


Our Hands Tied

by multilingualism



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, HEA, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Marriage Law Challenge, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Post-Hogwarts, Sexism, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2020-07-20 09:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 142,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multilingualism/pseuds/multilingualism
Summary: Despite her high position in the ministry, Hermione Granger is powerless to stop the passage of the disastrous Marriage Law. But when the law is less popular than expected, Hermione is chosen by her coworkers to serve as a public example of what marriage can be. Unfortunately for her, however, she is single with no prospects in sight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was my project for NaNoWriMo 2018 and I had intended to post it in Christmas of that same year but I soon realized how ambitious that would have been. I have written a sizable chunk of the story but I am not done as I post this. I plan on updating regularly but you know what they say about plans. I want to get back to my other story eventually but I think I need to rewrite it some before I'm happy enough to update it. Anyway, I hope you all like my take on the Marriage Law fic.

When your boss is the chief of staff for the minister for magic, and your boss’s boss _is_ the minister for magic, you really cannot afford to be late to your job. But on this very important day, Hermione was running late. Not literally running late—as a witch she could disappear and reappear anywhere, as long as she thought about it long enough—but the coffee line was taking longer than normal, causing Hermione to obsessively check her watch.

The young woman in front of Hermione kept giving her nasty looks, probably because Hermione was invading her personal space. But it was not Hermione’s fault that the line was almost out the door. Hermione smiled at the annoyed woman with a high ponytail, who was probably an intern at the ministry, based on her youthful appearance and the fact that she was getting coffee at five in the morning.

Hermione, however, was not an intern. As deputy chief of staff, one might assume that she had more important things to do than to wait around getting coffee, but her boss had decided that the ministry could cut costs by having Hermione serve both deputy and secretarial duties. Hermione relented, but only because she was desperate to one day become minister for magic herself. Every coffee run was putting her one step closer to actually making a difference in the world. At least, that was what she told herself.

Though the line seemed to finally be moving, Ponytail still had a sour look on her face. Hermione did not necessarily blame her. Part of the reason Hermione was late today was that she had stayed up the previous night fretting about the passage of an upcoming piece of legislation. As young women, both Hermione and Ponytail would be most affected, so for both of their sakes, Hermione was still praying it would not be passed.

Drinks in hand, Hermione left the coffee shop and returned to the brisk November air. Shivering, she rounded the corner toward the employee entrance. Tomorrow she would have to remember to wear her winter coat and to dig her hat and gloves out from the storage bin. Hermione checked her watch—it was still not yet six—so maybe her boss would not be so cross with her.

But her hope had been in vain, since in the very next moment, she walked into something tall and solid, a person. “I’m sorry,” she said. But the person, whose long black coat she could make out thanks to the light of a nearby streetlamp, was continuing at their clipped pace in the opposite direction.

Nevertheless, Hermione was not too upset by this rudeness, since it had not delayed her too much. And checking her watch—wait. The coffee cup in her left hand was missing its lid and appeared to be half-empty. Based on its milky contents, she could tell it was her boss’s cup.

Any normal person might just tell their boss that they had accidentally spilled their drink and that they could get them another one, but Hermione had made the mistake of showing up to work without coffee in the past and she was never going to make that mistake again. So she spun on her heel and walked back into the coffee shop, to wait and worry some more.

After a second trip to the coffee shop, Hermione was pleased to see her boss was not at his desk when she set the cup down. But on her trip back to her own desk, she could hear him pulling out his chair.

“Hermione, so glad you could join us,” he said. 

Hermione turned slowly, giving herself time to put on her fakest smile. “Good morning. Sorry I was late, Mr. Weasley.” That was another thing about her boss: not only did she have to address him by his last name, he was also her ex-fiancé’s brother.

“Not to worry, Hermione, you will just have to make up the time later,” he responded, taking a sip of his coffee. Great, Hermione thought. Now she would be leaving at nine instead of at eight. “Do you know what today is?” Percy asked.

Hermione knew he was taunting her. “Yes,” she said.

“Good, then you already know I want a press memo on my desk before lunch.”

“But we don’t know how parliament will vote,” Hermione said, cautiously. She knew Percy wanted the law to pass and he knew how much she was against it.

“If you are so worried about it, write two memos for all I care. But I am telling you, we have the votes.”

Hermione lowered herself slowly into her chair. The world was spinning too fast. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, hear her blood rushing in her ears. She wished she could be anywhere else. Hermione did not know if she was on the verge of crying or throwing up.

She closed her eyes and took a few steadying breaths. She could not afford to lose her cool at work. Every wrong move was ammunition Percy could use against her as they both jockeyed for the minister’s favor. And the law had not been passed yet; she still had a sliver of hope, however small.

Reopening her eyes, Hermione slid a piece of paper into her typewriter and began formulating her thoughts. Part of her job was to write statements from the minister to give to the press. Since the law was something of a pet project for the minister, she had to give it glowing praise, even though she despised every part of it.

But after every sentence or two, Hermione had to stop what she was doing to think about how her life would be under the law. It was hard to get work done when your world was about to be flipped upside down. Her greatest fear was that she would no longer be able to work and that all those coffee trips and yessirs to Percy would have been for nothing. It was not as if she knew of any single men who would marry her, so who knew if she might be forced to marry a man with backwards ideas, who thought she needed to work fewer hours or quit altogether.

In the end, however, she was able to crank something out: some nonsense about building a stronger, better magical community. The whole thing nauseated Hermione, but she dropped the memo on Percy’s desk before heading out to lunch.

* * *

Following the Second Wizarding War and his subsequent retirement from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape had been determined to start his life anew. The two most important facets of his new life, he had decided, were to be peace and anonymity. He had achieved both of those feats by moving to a new house and opening up an apothecary under a false name using the money he received from his Order of Merlin, First Class. He had not thought he deserved such a distinction, but after years of living on a teacher’s salary, he could hardly have refused the monetary portion of the award.

That morning, while it was still dark, he had been on his way to his store, fresh potion ingredients from his greenhouse tucked under his arm, when he was nearly run down by a woman carrying two large cups of coffee, obsessively checking her watch. Severus had recognized her immediately by her single-mindedness and bushy hair, but had not stopped to dress her down for bumping into him, since it was not his intention to be recognized by someone as nosy as Hermione Granger. He recalled seeing her name in the paper at least once before and if he remembered correctly, she had a high-ranking job in the Ministry. This had made sense to Severus at the time—know-it-alls like her always thought they knew how best to rule.

Severus unlocked the door to his shop, but then proceeded to lock it behind him. The apothecary would not be open to the public until Todd arrived. Todd was a young man Severus had hired to be the front-facing half of the business, dealing with his customers so that no one knew that it was actually Severus Snape who owned and operated the establishment. The young man had been specifically hired for his people skills, despite his dearth of potion-making knowledge. 

Generally, if the customers did not know what they needed or wanted already, Todd would have them describe their ailment and then go to a room at the back of the shop “to see what he could do” and either come back with an estimate for a price and pick-up date, or to hand them a ready-made brew. The arrangement seemed to work well since no one had figured out who really owned the apothecary and Severus still had a steady stream of customers. Well, at least enough customers to cover the rent and pay for Todd’s salary, with a little left over for Severus himself.

To the back of the store, to his workshop, was directly where Severus went, humming to himself all the while. He set about working on a potion for a woman who complained of her aging husband’s diminishing libido. Severus did not think drugging your spouse was an effective solution to any problem but he was there to sell potions and not to function as a marriage counselor. He had never been married, so what the hell did he know anyway?

But if the rumors were correct regarding a new law, Severus’s marital status might be changing. Although the public was not sure what had become of him following the war, the government knew exactly where he was—he did pay taxes, after all—which he was starting to regret more and more. Still, he might yet emerge from the passage of the law unscathed. Young, single women would be the only group compelled to get married. 

Severus wondered briefly if Granger was behind this stupid piece of legislation. To the best of his knowledge, she had married the youngest Weasley boy shortly after the war. Perhaps this law was a manifestation of her unhappy life; if she could not be happily married, no one should be. Well, Severus did not know for certain if her marriage was an unhappy one, but he could not imagine a partnership with a Weasley was a fulfilling one.

Chopping, cutting, crushing, Severus dove deep into his work, eager to have the thoughts of his government’s poor decision-making leave his head. His workshop was his happy place. The room was well-lit, certainly in comparison to his old lab in the dungeons of Hogwarts. The wallspace—that which was not already covered in shelves of pre-made potions, potion ingredients, and potion books—prominently featured botanical drawings he had bought on a whim from an art gallery in Diagon Alley. After Severus had hung them up and saw the signatures at the bottom, he had had a good laugh to himself. If only Longbottom knew that his least favorite teacher loved and hung up his work.

Severus heard Todd come in for the start of the workday without a word to him. That was the other great thing about his employee: he knew not to talk too much around Severus, chatty with the customers but reticent with his boss. Todd would enter Severus’s dominion only if necessary. For common ailments, he had a good handle on what potions were required. 

On that particular day, after the third or fourth customer came in, he only interrupted Severus’s peace to ask about a cure for joints that ached when it rained. Even then Todd did not have to say anything, Severus just handed him one of the many arthritis potions he made for the aging magical population. Severus knew immediately which formulation the man required, since he could easily hear everything that went on in his main room. However, he had placed enchantments, which functioned somewhat like a one-way mirror for sound, so no one could hear him when he played his favorite music. For Severus nothing could quite beat stirring a potion to the tune of a song you had loved since childhood.

Around lunchtime, Severus pulled his hood over his head—not an unusual sight on a cold, wet November day—and cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm before stepping into the street to walk to his favorite muggle restaurant. Once inside, he could drop all magic and his hood—there was no chance anyone would recognize him there.

To his dismay, however, while he took bites of his stew and read a chapter of his book, he heard a pair next to him discussing “the ministry” and “Shacklebolt” in hushed tones. He was behind a post so they could not see him, but their very presence meant that magical-folk had discovered this place and might soon appear in droves. Severus would not be returning if that were to be the case.

“This is ridiculous. All of the good men have already been taken. The only ‘eligible’ bachelors are twice our age.”

“You’re telling me. My dad just told me his coworker is newly divorced and was asking about me.”

So the rumors were true. The “marriage law” had been passed. Severus had been buoyed by the thought that no woman would ask for his hand since none of them knew he still existed and even then, he knew he was far from what was considered “conventionally attractive.” But now he was wondering if, based on what these young women were saying, he might be conscripted into service. He shuddered at the thought.

Someone must be happy, however. She would probably be celebrating with the other government bigwigs, maybe even with a bottle of champagne. Where did they even get off enacting such laws? They were not content enough to control magic, they had to control people’s personal lives as well. And for what? All in the name of increasing the magical population? Maybe that was not such a good thing. It was not as if their magical-ness made them any better than any other non-magical person. In that way, the government seemed a lot like Voldemort.

The idea sickened him so much he could barely finish his stew. A great pity too, since it might very well be his last bowl.

* * *

Thoughts of running far away from her current predicament swirled in her head as Hermione walked to her favorite spot for lunch. It was a muggle restaurant, so she never saw anyone she knew; a welcome change of pace from having some amount of fame in a relatively small community.

Her back itched, but it was hard to scratch through her coat, so she fought through the discomfort. She had noticed the rash on her back a couple of nights ago but had yet to find the time to look into treating it. Hermione was still unsure what was the cause of the irritation. Maybe it was the stress of work or maybe it was a result of the impending doom she felt every time she had heard any news about the marriage law. It was a minor annoyance for now, but if it grew any larger, it might become visible and seriously impact her ability to attract the attention of a husband. Gross. She shuddered at the thought.

Hermione was about to enter the restaurant when she was so rudely bumped into by a tall man wearing all black. Hermione was about to dress the man down for behaving so poorly when she had the fleeting idea that maybe this was the same man from before. And if he recognized her, he might yell at her for spilling coffee on his expensive-looking peacoat. So Hermione held her tongue, even if that was a very unlikely possibility.

Trying to shake off thoughts about the mysterious man in black, Hermione put on her biggest smile and greeted the woman working at the counter before putting in her order for takeout. Her job might prevent her from enjoying a nice, sit-down lunch, but that did not mean she could not enjoy restaurant-quality food. That, and she did not have the necessary time or skills to prepare her own meals.

* * *

A week passed and Hermione was joined by Percy, the minister, and other senior officials in a conference room. They had gathered to discuss their newest piece of legislation. Hermione had been sure to bring a notebook and a slew of different colored pens to doodle through what was sure to be a dreadfully boring meeting.

“Polls are coming in and it looks like we’re getting a lot of heat for this new law,” Percy began. Hermione rolled her eyes. She could have told them that without having asked a single person. “Which is why I am proposing a campaign to help… convince the public, as it were, that this law is actually great.”

Hermione could not draw but it did not stop her from drawing a little Percy, complete with glasses and curls, standing on a box, his hands on his hips. She drew lines coming from his mouth to represent his shouted words and a smug expression on his face, Drawing-Percy pleased to hear himself speak.

“I wonder if it would not be beneficial for one of us to practice what we preach and fall on his,” Percy turned his attention to Hermione, “or her sword.” His comment earned a laugh from every man—which was almost everyone—in the room. “Hermione, you’re not married, are you?” 

“No,” Hermione replied, setting down her pen and covering her still wet drawing with her hand. She could not tell if Percy was doing this in front of their colleagues to embarrass her or because he actually wanted her to get married. Percy wielded humiliation like a cudgel.

“That’s a good idea,” Albert Gove, another advisor, added. “Perhaps you should get married, Hermione.”

“That would be nearly impossible on such short notice,” Hermione said, trying to stay calm. She could not believe it had come to this. “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment and—”

“But, you were engaged to my brother briefly, weren’t you?” Percy asked, trying to sound dumb. He was fully aware—as was everyone else there—about her failed engagement to his brother, the very public calling-off of the wedding and subsequent backlash she endured for months at the hands of the media, accused of being the frigid bitch who had destroyed everyone’s favorite relationship. 

“Briefly, yes,” Hermione said, wishing she could give the man a swift kick under the table. There was clearly no level to which her boss would not be willing to stoop. Sometimes she wondered if he treated her even worse because she had (allegedly) broken his brother’s heart.

“Well, maybe he’ll take you back,” Percy said, with a simpering smile. Hermione knew that definitely was not going to happen, even if she had wanted it to. Ron had been named Witch Weekly’s “Most Eligible Bachelor” four times this year alone. Inevitably, he was having strings of affairs and would never suffer being “tied down” again. 

“It would be a great help to the administration if you could help… amend this situation,” Gove said. “You are the only unmarried person in this room and you possess a high enough profile as to attract enough attention away from people’s apparent burgeoning unhappiness with the law. Could you not at least try to remedy the situation with Mr. Weasley?”

Hermione was saved from having to talk down such a frankly stupid idea by Phaedra Chapman, head of communications. “If I may interject, Mr. Gove? While your plan shows some merit—two estranged lovebirds reunited by the law, very good and all—I think it is still missing that extra something.”

“I’m sorry, Phaedra,” Gove replied, “I don’t think I follow your meaning.”

“What do you think would sell more papers: a story about a couple you’ve been reading about for years or a hot, new romance?”

Hermione felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. Were they really debating her love life in such frank terms at work? Were important decisions about her future being hashed out in front of her while she sat there passively? But she was too mortified to say anything.

“Alright. I think you’ve made an excellent point, Phaedra,” Percy said, with an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. “Is everyone in agreement? Hermione will marry—with our support, of course—to show everyone just how wonderful wedded bliss can be.”

Hermione watched as everyone around the room nodded in assent. No one could meet her eyes, not even Kingsley, which sent a pain straight to her chest. But what was she supposed to say? Your law is dumb and I will not bite the bullet to make it look good? That’s what she wanted to say.

Then again, perhaps Percy had set this whole ridiculous thing up so she would be forced to quit. She knew he wanted to be minister just as much as he did and that she stood in direct competition to him. But if she did well, perhaps she just might earn a promotion. Maybe she would even rank higher than Percy. That might just make it all worth it. Or, a small voice said, she might just go through all this and stay exactly where she was.

The meeting ended and everyone cleared out of the room rather quickly, leaving Hermione in a state of shock. She slowly stood up, trying to process all that she had learned. So not only was she now being forced to get married by law—which required that all unmarried women under the age of fifty to wed within the following year or face steep fines—the date by which she had to do it was being moved up and it was going to be turned into a publicity stunt. Wonderful. Honestly, could this day get any better?

“Hermione,” Phaedra said, blocking her access to the door. “I am so terribly sorry this is happening to you. I just want you to know if you need any help, I am here for you. I could even provide you with a list of single men I know. We could set up a speed dating night for you or something.”

Hermione smiled at her co-worker. How fun this must seem for her. She was not going to be forced into a marriage she did not want and then paraded around like she was in love with whatever dirtbag the Ministry drudged up for her.

“Unless… you had someone else in mind?” Phaedra offered, probably confused why Hermione was just staring at her blankly rather than responding.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said with mock sincerity, walking from the room. “If I find someone, you’ll be the first to know.” 

Back in the bullpen, Hermione wanted to lean her elbows on her desk and bury her head in her hands, but she remained upright in her chair. What had just happened?  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. I forgot to check the-work-has-multiple-chapters checkbox when I created the work. That must have been confusing. Sorry. Also, you all seem to want Percy to get his just desserts. That is pretty funny to me considering I based him off of some of my own coworkers.

Hermione actually got out of work at a reasonable hour that day, but only because she had been given homework: finding a husband. That, however, could wait for a moment. Hermione needed to run some errands while the stores were still open, a rare occurrence for her. She was on a mission to find a cream for that stupid rash.

As a public figure, she supposed she ought to be embarrassed or worried that someone might recognize her, but she remembered having once seen a small apothecary on one of the side streets of Diagon Alley. A shop in such a location would probably not have many customers so she was not likely to be overheard describing her itchy skin.

She could not remember which side street it was on exactly, but after walking down a couple, Hermione found it. She pushed the door open and heard the tinkling of bells. But despite her noisy arrival, no one seemed to be coming to greet her. She walked around, examining some of the wares on the shelves. It was strange, but Hermione almost thought that the handwriting on the labels looked a bit familiar. 

Hermione continued to wander past fertility potions and contraception potions, past hair removal creams and cures for baldness. In the back corner, there was a black pea coat hanging beside a bright teal windbreaker on a coat rack. So, someone must be here, she thought.

She was not sure what brought her attention back to the pea coat, but on second glance Hermione noticed a curious, light brown stain. Coffee, perhaps? Her imagination was running wild. Was this the coat of the person whom she had bumped into? No, it couldn’t be—those were quite popular coats.

Hermione reached out to touch the coat and tentatively grabbed one of the sleeves. She did catch a whiff of coffee, but the coat also smelled fresh and potent, like a variety of herbs and spices.

“Hi, can I help you?” she heard a voice say from behind her. Hermione turned around, trying very hard to play it cool and act like she had not been smelling a stranger’s clothing in the back of a store.

“Hello,” Hermione said. “I was looking for something to help with this rash I’ve been having.”

The shopkeeper who had interrupted her illicit sniffing was a young man around her age. He had curly brown hair, brown eyes, and a well-groomed beard. His nametag said Todd. Hermione wondered if that meant he was Muggleborn, like her. She had not met many Todds in the magical community.

“Could you describe it in more detail?” Todd, apparently, asked. He had a warm smile and a friendly demeanor, so Hermione did not feel as embarrassed about describing the intimate details of a skin condition to a complete stranger as she might have felt otherwise.

“Well, it’s on my back and it’s red and bumpy. It seems like it gets worse when I’m really stressed out. And it itches like crazy. Here, why don’t I just show you?” Hermione offered, already starting to lift up the hem of her blouse.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Todd responded quickly. “I’m just going to go to the back to see what I can do.”

Todd disappeared into an adjoining room while Hermione wondered what he would do if she proposed to him on the spot, apropos of nothing. She knew nothing about him; but if he was Muggleborn, they already had a lot in common. And he owned an apothecary, that had to mean he was smart. Plus, he was her age and not bad looking.

* * *

The woman on the other side of the wall sounded like any other customer at first. She was describing a skin condition—dermatitis, most likely—and she was now offering to show it to his poor employee. Todd politely rejected her offer, to which Severus could not help but laugh. The young man was squeamish and looking at the ailments of their customers was his least favorite part of the job.

“You got all that, sir?” Todd asked, when he appeared shortly thereafter, looking as befuddled as ever.

“Yes. You can tell her it will be ready for pick-up tomorrow. Ten galleons.” Severus resumed his work, but when he did not hear Todd leave, he looked back up at the young man, who appeared considerably more nervous than before.

“Sir, I know you don’t care to know the identity of your customers, but…” Todd asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Severus pursed his lips. “I suspect this customer is somehow different, then?”

“It’s Hermione Granger, sir.”

What could she possibly want? First the coffee, then the restaurant, and now this? Was she stalking him, or something? “Yes, and?” Severus asked. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” There was no need for Todd to know Severus might have a reason to be suspicious of her.

“Well, and I don’t know how else to put this, but she appeared to be examining your coat...”

“That’s not unusual. It is a nice coat.”

“...with her nose.”

“So, she was smelling it?” Severus asked. 

“Yes, sir, the sleeve.” The sleeve. On which the coffee had been spilled. Why hadn’t Severus gotten it dry cleaned sooner?

“That is odd,” Severus said. “Are you sure you weren’t imagining it? Are you positive it’s even her?” Though with her face in the paper every other week, she was probably one of the hardest people to misidentify.

“I suppose I could have imagined her sniffing it. But she definitely held it close to her nose. And I know it’s her; we were in the same year at school.”

“It’s probably nothing. Get back out there. You’ve loitered long enough; we don’t want her sniffing anything else unsupervised.”

Severus tried to resume focusing on the potion at hand, but he could not help but wonder what he could have done to attract the attention of Granger. Was she here on government business? An audit, perhaps? No. If he was remembering correctly, she worked directly for the minister. The minister’s aides did not usual conduct audits. So, maybe what he had told Todd was right, maybe she had just taken an interest in the coat. He did not have to start worrying. Yet.

* * *

“Your prescription will be ready for pickup tomorrow,” the bearded young man said when he returned from the room. Hermione smiled and nodded but was curious as to why it had taken him that long just to say that her prescription would take a day to prepare. 

Then again, there were two coats on the rack, maybe there was someone else in the back he was talking to about it. Todd’s girlfriend or wife, perhaps? Damn. She was already losing her top candidate for a potential husband. But just to be sure, would it be too obvious if she stared at his left ring finger?

Hermione looked up from his bare, albeit hairy finger to see him staring at her, probably expecting her to agree to come pick it up or to ask a question. “What kind of cream will it be?” Okay, admittedly, that was not her most intelligent-sounding question.

“Rash cream,” Todd responded, like she was dumb as dirt.

“Yes, but what’s in it?” she asked.

“That’s proprietary information, ma’am,” he said, his customer service voice starting to slip.

“And what if I am allergic to it, Todd?”

“I guess you’ll have to find out.”

Hermione paid her ten galleons—quite a lot considering it was probably something she could have concocted herself, if she had had the time—and took the receipt Todd had given her. Directions were given at the top. “Rub an adequate amount on the affected area,” was written in that familiar yet unplaceable scrawl. Adequate. That word was the one that struck her the most.

Of course. Adequate! How many times had Hermione seen that exact word at the top of her potions essays? That certainly explained why the shopkeeper had been less than helpful. Evidently Todd did not actually do any of the potion-making in the apothecary. But now Hermione knew exactly who did. She had always wondered what had become of him after the war when he had disappeared off the face of the earth. Though it did strike her as a bit odd for him to hide in plain sight, but maybe as a spy, he knew that was the best place for him.

This certainly improved Hermione’s chances with that Todd guy if it was Snape he was working with and not his very beautiful wife and/or girlfriend. Although Snape could still throw a wrench into her plan if he told Todd just how annoying Hermione had been in school. Merlin, what was wrong with her? It was as if she was seeing potential husbands in everyone.

She even caught herself throwing covert glances at every man she passed along Diagon Alley. Why did it have to be such a cold day? Everyone was either wearing gloves or had their hands in their pockets. How was she supposed to know who was single and who wasn’t?

Stepping out of the Leaky Cauldron and onto the sidewalks of London, Hermione was confronted with the possibility of perhaps finding a good Muggle man. She had to laugh off the idea shortly thereafter since she imagined it would be entirely too overwhelming to receive a marriage proposal and then to learn that magic was real. Hermione had to wonder if that would be the worst first date in the history of mankind.

At home Hermione popped a frozen dinner into the microwave. She leaned against the counter in her tiny kitchen of her tiny apartment, contemplating everything in her life that had led up to this travesty. Her odds were not looking good. If she did not find someone to marry, would they fire her? It would not be legal, but she certainly could not count on a promotion after that either.

Even if she did quit her job, she still would be on the hook for finding a husband or else face steep fines. If that were to be the case, she would probably have to move in with her parents because there was no way she could continue affording her minuscule but centrally-located apartment. Then again, if—no, _when_ , she corrected herself—she got married, there was no way she and her husband could live comfortably in the apartment, not without constantly stepping on each other’s toes.

The microwave dinged and she took out her meal, gave it a quick stir and slid it back in. The marriage law would also represent a greater change to her life. Yes, it was ostensibly about marriage, but with that came the assumption that the union would be… fruitful. Hermione had never wanted children. This had been her and Ron’s favorite thing to fight about. And while it was not the only reason they had broken up, it had certainly felt like the nail in the coffin. So this law being passed made it seem like some higher power had it out for her and her uterus.

Hermione ate her frozen meal in silence. It was okay but definitely not as good as takeout. She laughed to herself thinking about catching a glimpse of Snape at her favorite restaurant. She had never seen him there before so maybe he was not a regular like her but she wondered if he had liked it as much as him. Maybe the next time they were there, she could give him a conspiratorial wink or wave. Ha, as if she would be brave enough to make eye contact with him.

Later that night in bed she tried to lie still, but her mind kept circling back to her “marriage problem.” She was torn between using this time to think of a way to weasel out of this mess and actually getting a full night’s rest for once in her adult life. It was not as if she expected her impending doom to inspire restfulness, but she also did not know if she needed all the sleep she could get to be sharp enough to keep fighting, especially since her sparring partners would be getting the recommended eight hours. There was no doubt in her mind that Percy was not suffering from insomnia. No, he was sleeping next to a beautiful, doting wife. 

She opened her eyes and stared at her ceiling. Hermione could never imagine herself in such a position. Naturally she and Ron had slept together in the same bed, but, for some reason, falling asleep at your boyfriend’s house felt so monumentally different from waking up beside your husband, the man you are legally bound to, in the house you owned together.

Hermione rolled onto her left side and sighed. She could hear her alarm clock ticking on her bedside table. She rolled onto her right side. She really was going to have to go through with this, wasn’t she? Were there any positives in this cesspit of terrible options? Hermione smiled to herself. There might be a tiny silver lining. If she really was going to be forced to be engaged and married in such a public fashion, then at least a certain someone was bound to find out about it. She could admit that it was very petty, but the thought was good enough to finally lull her to sleep.

_She was walking into a large room, decorated with lights. Everyone was already at the party, holding their drinks, chatting amicably until Hermione arrived, at which point they stopped to stare at her. Hermione fidgeted and looked down at her gold, sequined dress, which was catching the lights in an eerie, supernatural way._

_She went to get her own drink and looked about the room nervously for her husband. He was supposed to be here. Dream Hermione knew he had to be here. She could hear the other party-goers sniggering which only heightened her frantic search for her husband. And then, he arrived. He was facing away from her but Dream Hermione knew it was him. He turned to look at her and she smiled, her heart full of joy._

It was only after she had woken had she realized to whom the face had belonged: Severus Snape. 

Hermione did not put much stock in dreams. She knew they were often inspired by things that had happened the previous day. Case in point: the recent discovery of a missing, former potions professor and the anxiety of finding a husband. Still, she could not get that dream out of her head. Initially she brushed the circumstances of the dream off as utterly ridiculous, but as the day progressed, she was beginning to see the merit of it. Sure, it may have helped that she was growing increasingly worried that she would never find anyone to marry, but she was also having trouble coming up with disadvantages—something she did not know if she should feel good about or disheartened by. In a meeting, she doodled all the pros of marrying such a man in her notebook.

All of the reasons S.S. would be a good fake husband:

  1. I am a workaholic and actually it would be better to be with someone who doesn't care that I do not spend time with him because he does not even like me (romantically or platonically or as a person).
  2. I do not want children and he most certainly does not want them either.
  3. Moreover, S.S. would not want to even get near enough to me to even accidentally make a child because—and I cannot iterate this enough—he does not like me.
  4. Borrow each other’s books?



Perhaps the only downside was that the team might not approve of her marrying a former teacher. Hermione would be the first to admit that it certainly did not scream true love as much as it hinted at something darker. But she was sure Phaedra, a public relations genius and the queen of spin, would be able to cast the relationship in a different light.

And even if she could convince her boss that this was a good idea, she still had to ask the man in question. Saying she was terrified would be an understatement. How would she even get close enough to ask him? And what if he rejected her? This was a very real possibility. Would her feelings be hurt? If he were to turn her down in an especially mean way, there was a chance she could walk away not only with empty hands, but also a bruised ego. But then again, wasn’t that the worst that could happen? It was not like asking him would actually kill her. Well, he could hex her and she was a bit rusty in the dueling department, but cursing someone after a marriage proposal felt low, even for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting another chapter today because this one and the last are relatively short.

Hermione did not have Harry’s invisibility cloak. But she had read a book—back when she had more time for recreational reading—on how to create her own. It would not last as long as his but would suffice for her purposes.

She knew what she was about to do was wildly inappropriate and unethical, but when trapped between a rock and a hard place, how else was one supposed to act? Unethical laws required unethical action.

Though it was the weekend, Hermione had already worked a half day. But because it was Saturday, Percy was a bit more lax with the amount of time she spent in the office, so she could take a longer lunch if she had to. After eating her sandwich at her favorite restaurant—no sign of Snape, however—Hermione made her way to the small shop off the beaten path of Diagon Alley. Luckily for her plan, there were no other customers around when she entered.

“Hello! I’m here for a pick-up,” Hermione said cheerfully, invisibility cloak carefully folded in her pocket.

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back,” Snape’s employee said. She watched him go into the back room, slightly comforted by the fact that he could be her Plan B. Hermione could have followed him under the invisibility cloak then and there, but she did want to get her cream, and she did not want Todd coming in to interrupt her proposal. There was no romance in that.

“Here you go,” Todd said when he returned, brown paper bag in hand. “You are all set.” They exchanged pleasantries and Hermione turned to walk to the door, her cream stuffed into the pocket not containing the cloak.

When she had almost reached the door, Hermione looked over her shoulder. She was in luck; Todd had his back to her, straightening up the shelves. She threw the invisibility cloak over herself and pushed the door open, letting it close with a slam and a jingle of bells. Wordlessly, she cast a cushioning charm on her shoes and crept to the back of the store, where she would wait for the back room door to open. 

She waited and waited and waited until she thought her legs would go numb, crouching under the cloak. Her legs were not quite up to the task as they had been when she and her friends would go on adventures at thirteen. But Hermione had also told Percy that she had errands to run for the office Christmas party—they were going for a Nutcracker theme—so hopefully she would not get an earful when she returned hours later.

Finally, a customer entered the store. Damn, Hermione thought, how does Snape stay in business with so few customers? The customer was starting to lose his hair and wanted something for male pattern baldness. Hermione quivered in anticipation, excited that she would finally get to move. But instead of telling the man that he had to check in the back, Todd moved from behind the cash register to walk to one of the shelves of the main store area.

No, no, no, Hermione thought. I don’t have all day! Thinking on her feet, Hermione whispered “confundus.”

Todd stopped and looked around before turning to walk toward where Hermione was hiding. The customer, although the spell had not been used on him, looked equally confused, but Hermione was unconcerned. She stood up slowly, praying her joints would not creak too loudly and got as close to Todd as possible. Todd opened the door and Hermione went in after him.

“What is it?” she heard Snape say from behind Todd. “He just needed some hair serum. We have plenty of that in the front.”

Hermione watched Todd shake his head, the spell wearing off. “Huh, you’re right. I have no idea why I came back here.” Todd disappeared to help the customer, but Hermione still waited a moment more to reveal herself, standing beside a shelf of jars.

“Hello, Miss Granger,” Snape said, from across the room, sounding bored and irritated.

“Hello,” Hermione said, shrugging off the invisibility cloak before folding it neatly and tucking it under arm. He was not looking at her so she hoped he could not see the way her hands shook. “How did you know?”

“I heard you confund my employee.” Snape paused to make eye contact. “And Todd said you were snooping around yesterday.” Hermione crossed her arms. “Well, you found me. Are you proud of yourself?”

Hermione did not respond and focused on keeping her nerve. She had practiced what she was going to say throughout a variety of imagined scenarios. This had to go perfectly or she would be back at square one.

“So tell me, did the government send you here to drag me to the altar? I may be in hiding but that doesn’t mean I don’t see what you and the rest of your prime minister’s administration are doing.”

Hermione wanted to answer in the affirmative, that indeed that was more or less what she had come to do, but she had to be more tactful than that. She had to make it worth his while first. “Prof—Mr. Snape, how would you like to make a business proposition?”

Snape eyed her suspiciously. “You’re a public official, Miss Granger. I do believe this a conflict of interest.”

“And you’re a small-business owner, Mr. Snape. My administration, as you called it, wants to reward entrepreneurs such as yourself, since you are such an integral part of our economy.”

Snape tsk-ed and rolled his eyes. “Cut the pandering crap, Miss Granger. You and I both know if your administration was just handing out tax breaks or subsidies, you would not need to come here in person. You came here because you want something particular from me.”

“Your intuition is correct, Mr. Snape. Your reward is contingent on something that you could do for me—my administration,” Hermione corrected herself. Snape crossed his arms, his growing annoyance palpable. “But it won’t terribly difficult or taxing on your part,” she added, trying to sound reassuring.

“Is that so?” Snape asked. Hermione could feel his willingness to cooperate slipping. “You keep dancing around it. What do you want, Miss Granger?”

“You just… need to get married, sir.”

“Of course! I knew from the start that’s what this was all about. You know, you really should not have come all this way, Miss Granger. I’ve no interest in getting married. And if I’m understanding correctly, this law is only compunctory for young women, such as yourself.”

“Exactly.” Hermione could see the gears turning in his head before she had even spoken.

“You cannot possibly be suggesting what I think you are. No.” He threw down his paring knife. “Absolutely not. That is patently ridiculous.”

“You said yourself, why else would I come here personally?” Hermione fingered her wand nervously in its secret compartment in her robe.

“What about Weasley, Miss—”

“If you’ve noticed, I have not corrected you once. I am still _Miss_ Granger.”

“Is this some sort of joke?” he said taking a step closer. “Did someone put you up to this?” Another step. “Did you and your little friends have a bet?” Soon he was within a foot of her. “I am too old for this shit. Just get out of my sight and leave me alone!”

“Please, sir. Please, can I just explain myself?” she said, taking a step back.

“Are you stupid, girl? GET OUT!” Snape said, reaching for his wand. Hermione tried to get away but her back was right against the shelf of jars.

“I’ll go to the press! I’ll tell everyone where you are!” Hermione said, brandishing her own wand. Her pulse had risen and she could feel her heart beating in her chest.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, softly but the threat written clearly across his features and the way his fingers tensed.

“I would!” she said, trying to be convincing despite not feeling the weight behind her words.

Snape lowered his wand and Hermione mirrored him. “Fine. Continue your piece. It must be important if you’re risking bodily harm.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “I did not ask for this law to be passed. In fact I begged for them to reconsider. But they were adamant that this was the best course of action for the problem.

“And after it had passed and the optics were not so good, they realized they should try to sell people on the law by providing a public fairy tale to inspire them into action. Since I am under their employ and do everything they tell me to do and am, conveniently enough, female, I was chosen to act as their fairy tale princess.

“But even more unfortunately for me, like you, I have nobody in my life whom I could wed. All of my friends are either married or in committed relationships—I cannot ask them. Otherwise I would have, trust me.”

Snape looked slightly less perturbed after hearing her story but nevertheless the anger was still visible in his clenched jaw. “That still doesn’t explain why you would choose me of all people.”

Hermione thought about her next words carefully. She knew she had to be tactful since this was a proposal in more ways than one. “If I do not find someone to wed, I will be assigned a husband.” Hermione was not looking at Snape. She could hear her voice cracking. She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts to continue.

“Alright,” Snape said, which Hermione took as an exhortation to continue her argument.

“I work all of the time. I don’t want any children. We don’t have to live together. I want to keep my apartment and it definitely won’t fit the both of us.

“I don’t need… intimacy.” Hermione gulped. That was hard to say in front of a former teacher. “I need ambivalence. I need an understanding. I need the freedom to continue what I started. And when I’m finally the minister for magic, I’ll get the law overturned and our marriage annulled.”

“I said ‘alright.’”

Hermione returned her gaze to Snape, her surprise written plainly on her features. “I, er, sorry? What did you say?”

“I accept your business proposal, as it were.”

“Wow!” Hermione said like an idiot. “Thank you, thank you so much, Professor Snape, sir.”

“Indeed,” Snape said dryly. “And tell whoever is in charge of this nonsense that I want written confirmation of this tax cut.”

“Right. Of course, sir. I’ll get on that straight away. And sorry for disturbing you at work, sir.”

* * *

Severus Snape was livid. But it was not that he had been found out or that his work had been interrupted or even that Granger had had the audacity to propose to _him_ , of all people. He was more incensed by the fact that any of this had been necessary at all. Did the Ministry lack all humanity? Severus had known them to act without impunity in the past but surely this was drawing a line? Could they understand not that this law was about to ruin lives? 

And to what end? So that there were more magical people in the world? Born out of unhappy marriages to unhappy parents who might not have wanted them in the first place? Severus knew something about that and he could say with little uncertainty that it did not end well for any of the parties involved.

Severus sighed. Who had thought this was a good idea? And instead of listening to the people, the ministry just continued on their merry way, not caring who they hurt because they thought they knew better or some such nonsense. And to think the minister would abuse his power to force an employee into marriage? Was he drunk off of it?

And now he was also about to become a pawn in the Ministry’s stupid politicking. Their propaganda machine was legendary. As someone who had gone from being castigated for the murder of Albus Dumbledore to becoming a celebrated war hero, he knew this all too well. That was another reason why he had gone into hiding—he could not stand the unearned adoration. What kind of war hero was he, if he had only done those things because he had had no other choice?

A cynical part of Severus wondered if Granger had chosen him on more than just a whim. Perhaps she had asked him for these exact reasons. She was clever enough—she might have understood his sympathy for anyone being forced into circumstances not of their own choosing. It was a bonus that she did not expect anything from him other than to be a prop and that she did not want them to live together, but really his mind had been made up his mind the moment she had said she was being coerced into this.

Severus was well-acquainted with being other people’s pawns and he could not believe he had gotten himself into that situation once more. Goddammit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's past my bedtime but i wanted to post this before Harry Potter's birthday was over in my timezone (even if he hasn't made an appearance yet in the story).

“Professor Snape!?” Percy said, leaning over his desk, veins bulging in his face. “Hermione, have you gone mad?”

“He’s already agreed to it,” Hermione said. She had decided that she would not postpone the inevitable. She told her boss immediately what she intended—or rather, whom her intended was—as soon as she had returned from talking to the man himself.

“Why couldn’t you have chosen my brother?” Percy said. “I can imagine it now—‘Two-thirds of the Golden Trio Reunited by the Marriage Law: True Love Prevails.’”

“I don’t know!” Hermione said, barely able to conceal her growing annoyance. And did he not remember how Phaedra had already shot down that idea? “Have you talked to your brother recently?” Hermione knew he had not, knew he went home as infrequently as she did.

“No,” Percy said, “but you’ve had fights in the past. Why would this be different?”

“We were engaged and we broke it off! Doesn’t get more broken up than that. I really don’t want to get into this at work, Per—” she paused, before gritting out, “ _Mister_ Weasley. Suffice to say, I’m fairly certain he’s long since moved on.”

“Fine. But Professor Snape, Hermione? Honestly? What about your other friends? Harry, perhaps? If I recall correctly, you and he had a thing at one point. During the Triwizard Tournament, was it?”

“You are mistaken. Harry and I never ‘had a thing,’ as you so nicely put it,” she said, wishing she had more time and mental energy to explain just how wrong he was. “Besides Harry is marrying your sister soon. Haven’t you gotten the invitation?” Hermione’s own invitation was under a stack of junk mail in her home office. She had not yet been able to bring herself to RSVP since she knew Ron would also be in attendance.

Percy shrugged. “Probably. I leave all of that stuff to Penelope.”

“Well,” Hermione said, struggling not to roll her eyes at this incompetent man, her boss. “I’ll save you the trouble of asking about all of my friends. None of them are single.”

“But have you talked to any of them recently? Maybe one of them has since broken up with his girlfriend.”

“Look, Mr. Weasley, I’m not going to force my friends into a sham marriage for my sake. That’s my final thought on the matter.”

“But you’re going to force your former teacher? I’m sorry, Hermione, but forgive me for finding this all hard to follow.”

“He’s told me there’s no one else. I am not preventing him from being with the love of his life or anything.” Or having kids, she thought.

“Yes, what about the love of his life? The public isn’t going to buy it when they’re still sold on the idea that Snape did all of that spy stuff because he was in love with Harry’s mum.”

Hermione had thought of that, but she had not come up with a solution yet. She was not worried about whether he was still in love with Lily—this was a marriage devoid of feelings after all—but it might complicate their ability to convince the world that they were in love.

“Phaedra will think of something, I know it,” Hermione said, hoping to pacify Percy for the time being. She could not spend all of her time on this stupid marriage business, when she had other, more important work to do. Moreover, their next meeting to discuss this “matter” was not scheduled until next week. She still had time to iron out the details.

“You might be right. Let’s bring her in here now and find out,” Percy said, reaching for a blank interdepartmental memo.

Hermione shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Alright,” she said. She had not even known that Phaedra was at work today. Hermione did not know why she was so nervous. Maybe it was the prospect that another person was about to hear her crazy plan. But then again, soon enough the whole wizarding world would know. She had better get used to the idea.

Phaedra arrived moments later. She still looked as amazing as usual despite it being a Saturday and the fact that on the weekend most people chose to dress a bit more casually.

“Hello, Percy, Hermione,” Phaedra said, sharing a smile with both of them. “Percy says you’ve made your choice.” This time the flash of bright white teeth was reserved for Hermione alone.

“Yes, I would’ve written it in the note, but you would hardly have believed it yourself. And I don’t mean to diminish your talents but even you won’t be able to spin this one.”

“Oh, Percy, I hardly think that’s fair.” She turned her blue eyes back to Hermione. “Let’s hear it.” 

Hermione took a breath and thought how best to explain her reasoning. But Percy beat her to the punch. “Severus Snape,” he said with a flat laugh.

Phaedra looked from Hermione to Percy and back to Hermione. Hermione nodded to show that she was serious. “Really? I had figured he had left the country. But he’s still here, I take it?”

“Yes, we—the ministry—have been keeping tabs on him. He runs a small apothecary off Diagon Alley,” Percy said, as if this were common knowledge at the office. Hermione bit her tongue, dying to ask why she had not been clued in, when she had been trusted with other, much more sensitive information.

“Don’t worry.” Phaedra had a hungry look about her. It almost frightened Hermione. “I know exactly how we can do this. Just make sure I’m in the room when you bring it up to the Big Man. And good choice, Hermione,” she added before leaving the room in a hurry, evidently eager to get down to work.

Hermione stared at the spot she had previously occupied, a stricken look surely stuck on her face. “Isn’t that nice? You got what you wanted,” Percy simpered.

Yes, Hermione thought, this was _exactly_ what she asked for.

* * *

Severus was preparing dinner in his home. He loved cooking almost as much as he loved brewing potions, with the added benefit that he could enjoy the fruits of his labors immediately afterward. Not to mention, the fumes thereof were considerably less dangerous. Although, he had somehow managed to set off the fire alarm many times when he first moved in. Thank goodness his lab was in the basement and heavily warded, or he would probably still be setting it off.

He was scraping chopped onions from the cutting board into a pan when he was distracted by a flurry of motion in front of his kitchen window. It was dark, early winter night but Severus could make out two sparrows hopping from branch to branch of the crab apple tree growing by his house. They could not see him—he had charmed his windows for this reason. 

Severus watched them for a moment, listening to their incessant chirping and wondering why there were only two. Normally these sparrows were quite gregarious and found in large groups and sometimes even mingled with other species. But these two birds were alone.

He had become more interested in birds and bird watching after he had bought his new house and finally had a big yard to himself. One day, after his n-th trip to the garden center to get supplies for his greenhouse, he decided to buy a bird bath and bird feeder on a whim. Observing the birds on his days off was one of his favorite hobbies, in addition to tending his magical plants in his greenhouse and during the warmer months, his non-magical plants in the garden.

Before the war, Severus had not had time for much of anything outside of spying and teaching. When he had finally been released from St. Mungo’s, Severus had found himself with a ton of free time on his hands, even after he had started his apothecary. So, Severus had had to find new ways to fill his days. There was always reading and brewing—his usual fallbacks—but he had wanted to try new things as well. Calm, peaceful things.

That night, before bed, he tried desperately to fall asleep—normally an easy feat for him—but he was feeling uneasy. His life was about to be radically changed and not just in terms of gaining a spouse. Severus had known that there would be a time when he would have to return to wizard society, but he had not expected it to be in such a way. He had worked so meticulously to cultivate a new life for himself, one of peace and quiet, and he wanted so desperately to keep it that way. 

Severus wondered if there was still a chance the location of his shop and home could remain a secret. He made a mental note to contact Miss Granger about his wishes. Come to think of it, she would not be Miss Granger for much longer, would she? But then again, she did not seem like the type to not take her husband’s name, despite the practice still being the norm within the wizarding community. Severus could not care less, however. He had never imagined he would ever call anyone “Mrs. Snape.”

* * *

The marriage question, as she had begun calling it, had slowly been pushed out of Hermione’s mind as things heated up at work. She had become more and more preoccupied preparing for the arrival of the Japanese minister of magic in London. The two administrations were in talks for a new, strategic trade negotiation. And Hermione was in charge of making sure everything went smoothly. She was planning itineraries, writing memos, and researching the Japanese minister’s favorite foods.

Hermione had also borrowed tapes from the muggle library to learn some basic Japanese. She was playing them in the shower and took with her on her commute and while she cleaned her apartment. It was a fun distraction from the more stressful parts of her job.

It was already past noon when Hermione could finally stop working and get her lunch. She needed the break and time to collect her thoughts. She walked to the usual lunch place, her mind running through all of the permutations of possible seating arrangements for the big farewell dinner. 

Hermione smiled to herself, thinking about putting Percy at the far end of the table, away from the action. Would he throw a fit and risk looking like a whiny baby or suck it up but scowl throughout the meal? Unfortunately for her daydream, however, Percy would be approving the arrangements before they were sent to catering. Unless of course Hermione made a last minute change without him knowing.

At the takeout counter, Hermione wondered how long it would take for Percy to recognize it was her who had ruined his evening. He had to know that she did not like him. The feeling had to be mutual; he would not be so terrible if he was fond of her in any way. 

Her order was finally ready, which Hermione grabbed and headed out the door. And then she saw him, reading a worn hardcover. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Should she stop to talk to him? On one hand, he was engrossed in his reading and she had to get back to the office as soon as possible. But, on the other hand, if they were technically engaged to be married now, should she not at least say something?

Or should they continue pretending the other did not exist? How would she act if there was no engagement? Would she normally greet a teacher she had not seen in a couple of years? Well, yes, she would for any other teacher, but this was Snape. And then he looked up from his book.

Their eyes met.

She held his gaze but still had no idea how to respond. So Hermione just nodded and kept walking out the door. Merlin, that was awkward. And soon she would have to pretend to be in love with the man. Wonderful.

Back at the office, Hermione took a second look at her calendar while she crunched on a pickle. She noticed an appointment, which had been written in pencil and was beginning to fade. Hermione could just barely make out the hastily scrawled note, but it appeared to say “Engagement Discussion, 1:30 pm, large conference room.” 

At that moment all of her fear and anxiety came rushing back. She might know. Percy might know. Phaedra might know. Hell, even Snape knew. But no one else at the ministry had any idea about her plan. And she had to convince them. Sweat was already forming on her palms.

The only thing Hermione could do was hope the meeting would be short so she could get back to doing her actual job. But deep down she knew that was pure folly. Meetings were never short. With her luck, an especially humiliating meeting would, without a doubt, drag on.

Finishing up a memo, she was barely a minute late to the “engagement discussion,” but everyone seemed to have already arrived before her, including the minister himself. All eyes were on her as she found her dishonorary position in an empty seat towards the middle of the long table.

“Hermione, would you like to start?” Kingsley said.

Hermione definitely did not want to start. She had no statement prepared; she had not written up a thoughtful defense about why she had chosen the reclusive potions master. Sure, she had her own reasons for choosing him, but she had not put serious consideration into why her coworkers should consider him her best option. And why should she have? It was not like she had not had other, important work to do. 

Still, all eyes were on her and Hermione felt compelled to speak but another voice had beat her to it. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, her pompous supervisor felt the need to express his opinion first.

“Hermione has disclosed to me that she has chosen Severus Snape.” Silence. Not the response Hermione had been expecting. “I have made her aware that I think this is a foolish decision and that she should reconsider her options.”

Hermione opened her mouth to defend her position but she was cut off by an elderly wizard. “And why is that? Severus Snape was awarded Order of Merlin, First Class, by this very administration. What about him is unsuitable?”

“He was her teacher for one,” Percy replied. “Do you know what kind of message that sends?”

“Hermione has not been a student for many years now,” the elder wizard responded. Hermione searched his face but could not recognize him. Who was he?

“He’s nearly twice her age.” Oh, Percy could barely remember her birthday when it was written on the office calendar but now he knew how old she was?

“She is clearly not upset by that fact, if she was the one to ask him,” the mystery man said with a hint of a smile. Hermione cringed; she hoped he was not thinking what she thought he was thinking.

“And what do you have to say for yourself, Miss Granger?” Kingsley interjected.

Hermione could not believe she was thinking this, but she was actually grateful to have been talked over this entire time. Maybe in their arguing, they would talk themselves out of this whole fake-marriage-for-good-publicity sham. That would be the best possible outcome.

“Professor—Mister—Severus Snape is a very intelligent man. Our… mutual love of learning would make us compatible, I think,” she responded. A far-from-compelling answer, but maybe that could be beneficial, another reason not to force her to get married. But could Hermione afford to get her hopes up? 

“Can we sell that, though? Can we sell ‘books?’” Percy retorted.

“The two both fought in the war. Two war heroes—that’s compelling to readers.”

Ah, there it was. She may not have known his name but this wizard evidently worked for the _Daily_ _Prophet_. She had no idea they would be working so closely with that tawdry paper. And why was he even at this meeting?

“And yet, there are still many more suitable veterans of that war. Closer to Hermione’s age and not her former teacher,” Percy interjected. “Like my younger brother, for instance. Their engagement was already widely publicized, if you remember.”

“I wasn’t aware that your brother was single, Mr. Weasley. The _Prophet_ has reason to believe he is seeing someone.”

Despite the countless nights spent crying herself to sleep and the countless vows to never think of him again, the news that Ron was already serious with someone new hit like a gut punch. Hermione tried to cover her immediate reaction with a look of boredom but she was sure everyone’s face was turned to hers when that news was dropped.

They had been engaged once, but they were friends first. Was she not allowed to care about him, his life and his future? Should she not feel something at the realization that they were no longer a part of each other’s lives? Or was she just not admitting to herself that she was jealous?

No. She was more rational than that. Hermione had realized early on in this process that she did not want to marry him. She did not want to marry anyone, really, but she knew enough now that she definitely did not want to go through the process of getting married to him again.

“This meeting has run too long already. I’m sure we all have other things we could be doing.” Hermione could have run over and kissed Kingsley. Highly inappropriate, but she had had her fill. “So, do we agree with Hermione’s decision or should she go back to the drawing board?”

 _Drawing board?_ Hermione thought. _No, just scrap the whole thing!_

“If I may speak, Minister, before we make our decision,” a voice on Hermione’s left said.

“You may, Miss Chapman.” At Kingsley’s word, Phaedra stood up.

“Excellent. You may remember that Severus Snape requested privacy as reward for his selfless service?” Phaedra asked before looking about the room. Her question earned a few nods, Hermione’s included. 

“Only a select few knew that he owned and operated a small shop, much less that he was still in England. Miss Granger was not among this select few.” Phaedra paused, Hermione supposed for dramatic effect. “At least, as far as the ministry was aware. Severus Snape clearly trusted her with that information before he went into hiding or else she would not have been able to find him.”

_Yeah, or she just happened to need rash cream and found him on accident._

“Why would he do that, you might ask? After all, it was no secret—despite his feelings for Harry Potter’s mother, Lily Potter—that Severus Snape was never overly fond of the quote-unquote Golden Trio.” Another dramatic pause. “Well, I will answer that question with another question.”

 _Wow,_ Hermione thought, _she really practiced this._ Still, Hermione was curious, unsure where the hell this was leading.

“How did Severus Snape survive Nagini’s bite?”

Hermione’s stomach did a flip. No. She could not know. How did she know? Snape himself did not know. Harry knew, but he would never say that to anyone, let alone Phaedra, a random Ministry employee.

“How did Severus Snape survive not only blood loss but also venom? How did Severus Snape survive being left for dead? Not minutes, but hours. He spent _hours_ on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, bleeding out.”

_Whatever people thought this meeting was going to be about, this surely could not have been at the top of their list._

“Hermione Granger, that’s how. Hermione saved him. She administered an antidote of her own devising and stabilized him before bringing him to St. Mungo’s. She insisted that he be treated, despite his condition shaky at best and at that point, he was still thought to have killed Dumbledore in cold blood. But it does not end there, no.”

_How the hell did she know all of this?_

“While he was healing in a coma, she was fighting tooth and nail to get him acquitted by the Wizengamot for the false charges of murder and espionage.” Phaedra was almost yelling at this point. “And when she was not arguing for him in the courtroom,” her voice softened before continuing, “she was not his bedside reading to him, despite his unconscious state.”

Hermione did not look up from her twiddling thumbs. This was definitely not something she wanted widely known. Merlin, when Phaedra put it that way, it even sounded to Hermione that she had been madly in love with the man. And Hermione knew for a fact that was not the case!

“I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a love story to me,” Phaedra said, finishing her diatribe with a smug expression.

Hermione could tell everyone was looking at her again, so she tried—likely in vain—to look unbothered by these secrets being dumped for everyone to hear.

“Is that true, Miss Granger?” the man from the _Prophet_ asked.

“It doesn’t matter how true it is,” Phaedra said. “It sounds like something she would do, doesn’t it?”

Hermione, trying to not make eye contact with any one person, saw their small nods. Wow, her reputation did precede her.

“Yes,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice even.

“I have all the information I need then,” the man from the _Prophet_ said. So, that’s why he was here, to get his latest scoop. Soon everyone was about to find out about the summer she spent way too much time invested in the wellbeing of a comatose man in an attempt to distract herself from having just lost so many friends and loved ones. Wonderful. 

“So, it’s settled, then?” Kingsley said.

There were murmurs of ascension before Kingsley adjourned the meeting. Hermione wanted to clear out of the room like her colleagues, but the look the minister was giving her told he wanted her to stay. Something told her this was not about their upcoming conference with the Japanese Ministry. 

“Although Severus would not have been my first choice for you, Hermione, I don’t think you made the wrong decision. True, he’s been to be somewhat of a miserable bastard, but the man is also loyal and intelligent, which I know you can appreciate. This administration is greatly appreciative of your sacrifice; don’t think it will go unnoticed.”

Hermione smiled but the corners of her mouth felt tight. Kingsley was a good politician—she was tempted into believing everything he was saying. There was no guarantee that he would promote her; she had received similar promises in the past.

“Also, I know this is something Percy would normally make you do, but we had Phaedra run out and get it for you.” Kingsley reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. Hermione’s heart was in her throat, that could only be one thing. “Something to sweeten the deal.”

Wincing internally at his comment, she took the box and opened it reluctantly. She prayed that the stone was not too big.

“We know how much Mr. Snape makes a year and could not expect him to afford the necessary ring,” the minister said, too nonchalantly for her taste.

“Necessary? This was totally unnecessary! What if the taxpayers find out?”

“No one will find out, Hermione. Everyone involved has been sworn to secrecy. Besides, we had money left in our discretionary spending budget. It’s the end of the year—we have to spend it or else we lose it.”

“Yeah, but this… this too much. Can I go back to the store and exchange it for a smaller one?”

“You wouldn’t want to insult Phaedra, would you? Plus, the _Prophet_ said they needed a ring big enough to be visible in photographs.” Hermione’s stomach churned. “There will also be some money for your ceremony, but don’t expect the ministry to pay for your house,” the minister said with a wink.

Hermione balked. “We won’t be living together, anyway, sir.”

But Kingsley had already left, leaving Hermione alone in the large conference room with a useless rock and her mounting guilt.

“Hermione, did Kingsley give you the you-know-what?” Percy asked Hermione in hushed tones when she returned to her desk. She nodded and he sat down on her desk. “I expect the utmost discretion. And not just about this, about the whole arrangement. Don’t tell anybody outside of that meeting that this is a fake marriage.” Hermione wanted to roll her eyes but she just nodded. She did not have any friends outside of the ministry anyway.

“And can you bring your, uh, fiancé in so we may have a similar conversation with him? Discreetly, of course.”

Hermione was just bobbing her head now, but inside she was dreading having that conversation with Snape.

“Can I talk to him now? I don’t know how to contact him without talking to him directly at his store.”

“Absolutely not. There’s still more for you to do on this Japanese deal. Do that on your own time.”

Hermione sighed but tried to maintain a cool head. “Well, when do you want him in by?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“So, how do you expect me to contact him? I get off before his shop closes.”

“Send him an owl; I don’t care. Figure it out. I don’t pay you to chat with your boyfriend.”

Hermione knew she would be throwing a lot of darts at her Percy dartboard that night, but in the meantime she was content to look straight at the man and say “yes, sir” and hope he would leave her alone for the rest of the day so she could do the work he was nagging her to do.

Later that day, in between meetings and running around, Hermione found some time to pen a short letter to Todd. At least it was ostensibly for Todd. She figured Snape had enchantments up so owls could not find him. “Inquiry regarding a prescription refill,” was all the note read. Hermione had placed an enchantment to reveal the real message once it entered Snape’s possession.

She tied the rolled bit of parchment to a ministry owl and wavered on whether she should sign her name. She did not know if her signature would make Todd more or less likely to pass it on. All she could do now was just hope, so she signed it. Hermione also had to hope that she explained herself clearly enough and that Snape would not renege on their deal. That would mean more pointless meetings and more unnecessary humiliation for Hermione and she was not sure if she could stomach much more of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a bit nervous to post this chapter because I thought Snape might act a little OOC for some readers' taste and I think it only gets worse from here, so I won't blame anyone if they decide to bail. Otherwise, enjoy ;)

When Todd came into Severus’s workshop that afternoon, he was in a similar state as he had been during Granger’s first visit. There had not been any customers recently so his presence was most unusual. Severus wondered if his assistant was looking for a raise, which might explain the panicked look on his face.

“Hermione Granger has requested a refill on her prescription,” Todd said. Severus noticed the piece of parchment in his hand but resumed counting sopophorous beans.

“Alright. I will get right on that,” Severus said, not entirely focused on what his employee was saying.

“You don’t think it’s odd?” Todd asked.

“What? That she would request it by post? Not at all. She’s probably too busy at some ministry party to dein us with her presence.”

“Perhaps… But did she go through the container that quickly?”

Severus gave up counting, having lost track too many times. “Maybe. If I recall correctly, you refused her offer to show you, so the afflicted area could be quite large. So,” he said walking up to Todd and holding out his hand, “I’ll be taking that.”

Todd realized he was being dismissed and left summarily. As predicted, the note was more than just a request for a refill from Granger. The one-sentence note turned into a multi-paragraph letter, which Severus began reading, albeit reluctantly.

She started off with profuse apologies for the whole situation, over which he just skimmed. He knew she was sorry already, so there had to be another reason for such a missive. His eyes stopped, however, once they reached the word “restaurant.” She was apologizing for walking right past him without a word, but Severus could not help but chuckle to himself. Both of them were too awkward to handle such a situation with a modicum of grace.

Finally Severus reached the meat of the letter:

“I regret to inform you that the ministry has, against all odds, approved our engagement as fit for ‘public consumption.’ Since it is to remain classified that this relationship is wholly fabricated, your presence has been requested at the Ministry tomorrow to sign a non-disclosure agreement and so you can be briefed on your responsibilities. If you cannot make that date, please let me know ASAP so I can beg the powers that be to reschedule. Sorry for the short notice. Also please let me know what time you are planning to arrive so I can bring you in in a discreet manner.

P.S. Sorry if this is an incoherent mess. I was in a hurry and I needed to get back to work.”

Severus looked at the scrawl that became messier and messier in each paragraph. The last place he wanted to be was the ministry, especially if it was for some nonsense, bureaucratic business. But, he told himself, it would be worth it in the end to get had that tax credit. Merlin, was it even worth it? Part of him wanted to pretend to have never received this letter, but whatever honor he had was telling him he couldn’t—he had made a promise and Granger was counting on him.

He sighed and smiled to himself as he looked for a spare piece of parchment to write his response. Hopefully it would not get much more than this and yes, Severus considered a short trip to the ministry an unbearable slog.

* * *

Hermione had received Snape’s response faster than expected. He made no mention of her profligate use of ink to write “sorry” no less than fifty times. He simply replied that he would meet her at the usual lunch place. She did not totally agree with that decision but she was not about to start sending him owls back and forth to argue with him, especially since she presumably still had to go through Todd to do it.

So that is why Hermione felt so much apprehension as she pulled open the door to the restaurant. She chided herself for getting so into her head when she was going to be married to the man soon enough. What kind of Gryffindor was she if she simply couldn’t meet a man to walk to a meeting?

She saw him sitting at his usual table, but first she had to get her own lunch. Like the previous day, their eyes had met when she turned around, brown paper takeout bag in hand. Only this time she walked up to him with a dumb smile on her face.

“Hello,” she said, her sudden shyness probably painfully obvious.

“Hello,” he replied in his usual bored tone.

“Are you ready?” Hermione asked. Snape looked at his empty plate as if that was a response. “Right. Let’s go then.”

The unlikely pair walked out the door. The two made it some distance from the restaurant before Snape stopped and held out his arm to her. Hermione stared at his arm before realizing what was meant by an outstretched arm.

“Oh, it’s not far. I usually walk.”

“I too like walking however I believe the operative term was ‘discreet.’”

“Er, right. Good idea.”

Hermione took his arm but was not sure if he was apparating her or if she should lead. The characteristic pull at her navel told her, however, that she had better prepare herself. They reappeared in an alley from the visitor entrance. Hermione had the clearance to apparate him directly inside but there was no point in telling him that now, so the two walked to the phone booth and waited to be let in.

“Do you think people will see right through this?” Hermione said, feeling claustrophobic and stifled by the silence.

“Honestly? I have no idea what ‘the people’ can see through. I would like to hope so,” Snape said in response, matching her hushed tones. Hermione had not expected such a response from him. She hoped her shock was not too evident.

“Well, if that’s the case, then this was all for nothing,” Hermione said with a laugh and a creeping sense of dread.

“Yes, I suppose that’s right.”

They were finally cleared and the booth descended into the ground. Snape let Hermione exit first and they walked the rest of the way in silence. Hermione used that silence to pray to anyone who would listen to make this an easy meeting. She was not sure if Percy would behave himself and she knew how little tolerance for bullshit Snape had.

Once in the bullpen, Hermione offered to take Snape’s coat and gloves. Through the glass door to the room where her and Percy’s desk were, Hermione could see the bespectacled man watching them closely. His fierce gaze made Hermione wonder if he thought they were actually an item. Hermione could have burst out laughing at the idea if it did not mean that she would then have to explain her response to Snape.

Percy’s eyes did not leave them as they approached his desk. “Good to see you, Professor Snape. How has life been treating you?” Percy said, offering a hand. Snape shook his hand without answering the question. Hermione had never felt closer to Snape than in that moment. “Hermione, you’re not wearing your ring,” Percy said, turning his attention to her.

“I wasn’t told to, Mr. Weasley,” Hermione said through clenched teeth. “It hasn’t been announced yet.”

“Right you are. I just figured you would be excited to do so.”

“Nope,” Hermione said, barely trying to conceal her annoyance. It was bad enough to be put in this situation, it was even worse to be made fun of for it.

“Well, come right this way, lovebirds,” Percy said, turning on his heel and motioning for them to follow him. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Snape pulling out his wand and gripping it, white-knuckled. Hermione certainly did not want to see a fight break out in a government building, but she also would not mind Snape taking a piece of her megalomaniacal boss.

Hermione had expected a handful of people clustered around a table as a non-disclosure agreement was discussed and papers were signed. What she had not expected was a room full of people standing around, each equipped with tools of some sort. A man with a camera fiddling with lights. A woman standing in front of a mirror, wearing a belt stuffed with makeup brushes. Someone grabbed her arm and all she could do was mouth “sorry” as Snape was pulled in the opposite direction. If he did not immediately walk out, Hermione was sure someone was going to get hexed.

Hermione was set into a chair and surrounded by a group of people who began touching her immediately. Her hair, her face, and based on the rack of clothes just out of her line of sight, the rest of her body was next. Hermione wished she had known of this ahead of time so she could at least have warned him. He probably thought she had withheld this information to get him to cooperate. If only he knew that the same trick had been played on her.

“Come with me,” the owner of the hand currently encircling her wrist said into her ear. She did not demur, but looked around to see what torture Snape was currently enduring because of her. She could not see him which was a bad sign, but for the time being she was just going to do what she was told.

The witch was holding up dresses in front of her, evidently trying to decide which one she fancied the most on Hermione, but the amount of tsking she was making, was only a little insulting. Eventually the woman settled on a satiny pink monstrosity that had to be let out so it would fit her. Since it was sleeveless, she was thankful Snape’s cream had cleared up her affliction so fast.

She did not even have enough time to pity herself when she was once more dragged by the wrist to the backdrop they had placed where the chalkboard normally was. Snape was manhandled into place beside her and Hermione could not bring herself to look at him. She felt like she was on the verge of tears but kept it together because she knew crying would only delay the inevitable. 

She had agreed to this; she should have realized the consequences of her actions. Imagine if she had run away like she thought and was in Paris enjoying a glass of red wine right now. Instead she was standing next to her a former teacher who had once insulted her teeth and called her an “insufferable know-it-all,” pretending to be in love, while a dozen pins seemed on the verge of piercing her scalp.

The cameraman was fiddling with his camera when someone yelled, “Where’s the ring?”

Hermione did not want to walk back to her desk to get it in case the temptation to escape was too great so she wandlessly summoned the velvet box with an “accio engagement ring.” It hit her hand, harder than she expected, and she opened it before unceremoniously throwing the box on the ground. She began slipping the ring onto her that stupid finger when she was stopped.

“Wait,” this woman who had been dragging her around said, smiling broadly, “let him do it.”

Hermione knew these people were only doing their job but she was nearly ready to start sobbing or throwing punches, or maybe a combination of the too. She thrust the ring into his hand without looking at him. They barely made any contact but Hermione could tell his hands were just as sweaty as hers. That, weirdly enough, made her feel a little better.

The cameraman was holding the camera in front of his head and began shouting orders at them. “Turn and look at each other!”

Hermione was finally forced to look at her “fiancé.” They had slicked his hair back and shaved his stubble. He also had been put in a three-piece suit. Their made-up appearances, the phony backdrop, and their grimaces confirmed Hermione’s suspicions—no one in their right mind would ever believe this was real or natural.

She tried to smile at him, but the effort made her eyes water. She hoped her contrition was evident, but when she looked at him, she only saw her own deer-in-headlights feeling reflected back at her.

“Good, now mime like you are slipping the ring on her finger.”

Snape hesitated a beat before grabbing Hermione’s shaking left hand. He slowly slipped it onto her finger and Hermione heard the camera click. All she could do was keep smiling and hope this whole ordeal would be over so she could cry in a bathroom stall.

“Wait,” the cameraman said. “Switch sides so her left hand is facing me.”

The two obeyed and Hermione tried to covertly wipe her damp hands onto the stupid satin dress. Unfortunately for her, however, the material was not very absorbent. She dutifully held out her hand once more and tried to pretend she was anywhere else.

In the end, Snape probably slipped that damned rock onto her finger a dozen times before everyone was happy with the shot. Hermione’s shoulders felt ten pounds lighter when the cameraman told them to relax.

“Alright, now how about a kissing one.”

If Hermione had not been at her breaking point before then, she had since rapidly reached there. “This was not part of the deal. Isn’t what we have good enough?”

“This is going to be a feature. We need a lot of different pictures to keep it interesting.” Hermione looked around the room for her coworkers to back her up but none seemed to have decided to stick around. They were probably doing their real work, which set her blood boiling.

“Can’t you think of another pose besides kissing?”

“Ma’am—” The cameraman beseeched.

Phaedra came up beside Hermione—she had clearly missed her earlier or she did not register because they hardly worked together—and pulled her off to the side.

“I want this to work for you. How can I do that?” Phaedra said.

“No kissing. I cannot force him to kiss me.”

“Alright, but the magazine is doing us a favor by featuring this story. Can’t you figure out some way around it?”

“Magazine? I thought this was the _Prophet_?”

“No, this is for _Witch Weekly_ . But don’t worry, the _Prophet_ will run a story and use some of the photos too, so we won’t make you stand for two photoshoots.”

“Oh, thank, Merlin.”

“So, if we can do that for you, Hermione, what can you do for us?”

* * *

Severus might have been furious at Granger if it was not immediately apparent that she was on the cusp of a breakdown. But just because his anger was not directed at her, it did not mean he was not still furious about being poked and prodded and ordered about. The situation was definitely a combination of all of his greatest anxieties but he was trying to keep it together for Granger’s sake.

But why, he did not know. Maybe because he could tell as soon as they walked in the room that she had also been lied to about the nature of the meeting, because she was being used as a puppet as much as he was. Or maybe because if he did not keep it together, he might explode in front of a group of people who could send him to Azkaban without trial. That was probably more like it. Kingsley might have promised to close the prison, but he had yet to make a move to do so. 

And normally one might be insulted that someone was begging not to kiss them, but in this situation he was more than pleased. However after one familiar-looking woman—an ex-student perhaps—pulled her aside and Granger returned looking positively sheepish, Severus had a feeling she was about to crumble.

“I’m not paying for that, am I?” Severus said, pointing at the ring, after Granger had cast a Muffliato. He was not one for cracking jokes but the adrenaline pulsing through his veins made him feel very unlike himself.

Hermione cast a disgusted look at the stone currently weighing down her ring finger before saying, “No, and don’t even get me started.”

Then they were silent. It seemed neither wanted to have the conversation.

“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. First they lied to us and now they’re making us kiss.”

“What about on the cheek?”

Hermione looked at him like he had not spoken to her in English. “I, uh, wouldn’t feel so disgusting if it were only the cheek.”

“Okay. Deal. I’ll see what we can do.”

Hermione brought down the Muffliato before stating their terms. The cameraman looked annoyed but told them he was ready when they were. They exchanged an uneasy glance and both blurted out “I’ll do it.”

“Look, I don’t care who does it; we’re all busy, so let’s get this going,” the cameraman replied.

Hermione apologized, of course, but Severus thought it was unfair for him to complain. He was not being forced to perform such a ridiculous charade and in front of such a crowd. Severus wondered how this many people could keep the secret. Maybe they did not know or maybe they just thought they were photographing a particularly awkward couple.

Taking a deep breath, Severus decided to take the plunge and kiss her. He reminded himself in some countries it was normal to kiss on the cheeks as a greeting. Though she would probably be more disgusted than him by the gesture, he closed his eyes and bent down to do the deed. But instead of her cheek, he was fairly certain he had met her lips. Hermione must have had the same idea as him—do it as quickly as possible just to get it over with and move on.

“Got it,” the cameraman said.

Severus opened his eyes, confirming his earlier suspicions. Their eyes met briefly before they both looked away, both ashamed of what had transpired. They moved far away from each other, Hermione anxiously rubbing her elbow, Severus playing with the buttons on his jacket.

“Thanks, everybody, that’s a wrap,” someone else said.

* * *

The worst possible outcome had occurred. Not only had he been unprepared, not only had they forced him into a monkey suit, not only had he kissed her, but it had been on the lips. He probably thought she had planned all of this, including the kissing. He sure as hell must hate her. But maybe this whole thing was enough to convince everyone and they did not have to do anything else except maybe pose for a fake wedding picture. There would definitely be no kissing then. Hermione would make sure of it.

Returned to her original clothes, Hermione walked from the conference room without anyone stopping her. She took this as a sign that her job was done. Back in the bullpen, she did not see Percy; she was in luck. Hermione walked out the past the glass doors and towards the ladies’ room. She was going to get the cry she had promised herself. A few tears escaped on the trip, which she wiped away. Something caught the light and she remembered she was still wearing the ring. She took it off and slipped it into her pocket. Hermione did not want to lose it, but she definitely did not want to wear it either. 

“Hey,” she heard from behind her.

Spinning on her heel, Hermione prayed that her mascara was waterproof. Snape was grabbing his coat from a hanger on the coat rack. Hermione could still see the coffee stain on his sleeve.

“Sorr—” Hermione started, a string of apologies already queued.

“You want to get dinner later?”

“What?” Hermione had not meant to sound so taken aback, but that was the last response she had expected. Snape, it seemed, also looked surprised by what had just come out of his mouth.

“Uh, I just mean, don’t you have to buy someone dinner first before you know…”

Hermione laughed, despite the dated-ness of the joke. Perhaps it was good news that he was joking; it was more of a laugh of relief, anyway.

“Oh, no, you really don’t have to do that. I’m sure that was... enough of me for the rest of your life.”

“Okay,” Snape said, his smile disappearing.

“Please don’t think I don’t appreciate the gesture. I’m so appreciative enough already, actually, that you even participated. If I were you, I would have walked out.”

Snape did not respond.

“Also, please don’t think I knew anything about that ahead of time. Trust me; I would’ve warned you. I know this whole thing is super selfish of me, but I was— I’m going to try to do best by you, by being a hundred percent honest.”

Snape was still only looking at her.

“But thank you for the offer of dinner! You really don’t have to be so chivalrous. And I’m probably going to sleep here tonight. I’m already looking forward to it.” Hermione looked at him, his expression still unchanged. “Sorry, I’m talking too much, aren’t I? You probably want to get going. I’ll send you another owl, if I need to get in contact. Thank you again. I really owe you!”

Hermione turned around and immediately felt her face become red and hot. She hurried off in the direction of the restroom, embarrassed by her behavior. He was just trying to be polite and she had to open her big mouth.

Hermione returned to her desk with all of the makeup removed, but she had been unable to get the hairspray out her hair with magic. Without the pins, her hair looked like a rat’s nest, so she tried, to the best of her ability, to pull her hair into a messy bun. 

She knew she needed a shower, but she might not get one until she could off later that night to the offices of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, where there were communal showers. Hermione had not actually been able to have her cathartic cry; she had gotten into the bathroom, but her mind was so occupied by her last exchange with Snape that she could not bring herself to produce tears.

“Great job, Hermione. I saw some of the proofs; you’re a greater actress than I thought.”

Hermione kept her eyes on her desk, not wanting to dein Percy’s taunting with eye contact. She could not tell if he was joking or not. Remembering how she felt in those moments, she doubted he was really serious.

“Yes! And you know, I got nervous when you said you would not kiss him, but then you did and on the lips! Maybe you missed out on your calling when you went into politics.” Hermione had not seen or heard Phaedra walk in, but apparently she also had an appointment about Hermione’s “performance.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Percy replied. “Politics is exactly where she belongs.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Hello, sir,” Todd said when Severus walked into the front door of the store. He had decided on his return journey that there really was no point in being secretive anymore if he was about to be on the cover of newspapers and magazines in a couple of days. “You were gone longer than I expected.” 

Severus was only half-listening. “Is that so?”

“We had a couple of customers and most of them just needed something off the shelf, but for those who didn’t, I just wrote down the details.”

“Great job,” Severus said, taking the list Todd had proffered. “I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

Although he was brewing a rather complicated potion and needed to keep focused—eight full stirs counterclockwise followed by one-half stir clockwise—his thoughts kept drifting to what had transpired earlier. One. He had not meant to sound so weird when he had asked her to go to dinner with him. Two. He had not even that expected he would ask. Three. The opportunity had just seemed to present itself. 

Four. Severus had been thinking he might want to get to know her better. Five. They would technically be married soon and dinner seemed like a good first step. Six. And she had had tears in her eyes. Seven. He thought about them then. Eight. Warm and brown and sad. One-half stir clockwise. That was the kicker. He had never been overly fond of Hermione Granger, but even she did not deserve to feel that way.

Severus started his count again. He knew why she had cried. Hell, he might have been crying too if he were marrying someone like him. He was ugly and much older than her. Who would not be repulsed? And while he believed her when she had said she was too busy to get dinner, he could not help but feel that her declining was a rejection of him.

As much as he hated to admit it, her response had stung just a little. Intellectually, he understood that she would have gone with him had she had the time. Severus stilled his hand as bubbles began to form—an indication that he should stop. But he was plagued with doubt. Severus sighed and rested his stirring rod onto a cutting board. She had been the one to initiate this agreement, yet why did it feel like he was the one dragging her down?

* * *

The Japanese delegation had come and gone and Hermione had almost forgotten about the doomed photoshoot. However, the stack of glossy publications that appeared on her desk the following Sunday was a brutal reminder.

“First Engagement of the New ‘Marriage Law,’” one headline read.

“They Were in Love, then the Law Brought Them Closer Together,” said another.

“Marriage Law: a Gentle Push in the Right Direction.”

On the front page—the front page!—of the _Daily Prophet_ , she and Snape were looking at each other, smiling in a heart-shaped photograph. Hermione could see her eyes glittering at the corners. In the moment, it had felt overwhelming and stressful, but in the photo, she looked like she was about to cry tears of joy at being made “an honest woman,” at least that was how the _Prophet_ had put it.

“We told you that you looked convincing,” Percy said, coming up alongside her to sit at the corner of her desk. He crossed his arms and looked at her over his glasses. “You’re about to become famous again, maybe even more famous than when you had defeated You-Know-Who or better yet, after they had heard about your first engagement.”

Hermione had almost forgotten about the field day that they’d had when they had gotten wind that a marriage was brewing. Or rather, she wished she had forgotten. It had been a pain in the neck being photographed everywhere she went. And like Percy had hinted at, she received way more attention for the engagement than she ever had for defeating any Dark Lord—doubly so when they announced that they had broken it off. Even though the decision had been somewhat mutual, Hermione had received all the blame and all the Howlers.

She had not seen any mention of it yet, but she was sure that the dissolution of that relationship would feature prominently in every story. Probably something like she had broken up with Ron because she had actually been in love with Snape the whole time. Though Hermione supposed it was better than everyone saying that it fell apart because she was a frigid, unlovable bitch. And at least it fed into the narrative that the ministry wanted to tell—that she and Snape were truly, deeply in love.

“But don’t let the fame get to your head. We still need you in the trenches, getting our other key policies passed. The dwindling population was only part of that.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said, already thinking of what she had to accomplish that day.

“And Hermione?” Percy said, standing up.

“Yes?” 

“Put on your ring, please.”

But Hermione had left the ring at home. That stupid rock was probably worth more than she made in a month, maybe even two, so she had placed it in her jewelry box for safekeeping. Moreover she had just arrived at work; she was not going back to her apartment home right away. Percy could wait, especially on a Sunday, when they were the only two people in the office.

In the middle of reading and annotating a proposal on the taxation of imported fluxweed, Hermione felt—and heard—her stomach gurgle. Lunch time. She donned her winter gear before telling Percy she would be back soon. Looking at her mitten-covered hands, Hermione wondered why she even needed to bother with the ring—it was not going to be visible to most people anyway.

“Hermione?” she heard, when she reached the main lobby. She looked around erratically, surprised anyone was even around. Eventually, her eyes rested on, none other than, the Boy Who Lived.

“Oh, Harry, what a pleasant surprise,” Hermione said. “What are you doing here on a Sunday?”

“I came to look for you,” Harry said.

“Me?” Hermione asked, her voice breaking. They had barely talked since her and Ron’s relationship had imploded. This had not been surprised Hermione in the least; Harry had always been closer to Ron than to her and not to mention, he was soon to be married to Ron’s sister. “Why?”

“Well, I think we clearly have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah, I got the wedding invitation. I’m so happy for both of you,” Hermione said, laying it on thick.

“No, Hermione, I mean we have a lot of catching up to do with your life.”

Based on Harry’s expression, Hermione finally understood that he meant her apparent engagement to Snape. She did not think Harry had been subscribed to any wizarding publications, but clearly she was wrong.

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, _that_. When were you planning on telling me that you were going to marry Snape?”

“Professor Snape,” Hermione corrected, out of habit.

“This is serious, Hermione. Is what they said true?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t read _every_ article so I can’t say with certainty that everything is true—”

“Every article?”

“Yes, I’m quite popular,” Hermione said with a sardonic laugh. “It’s been written up in a quite a few publications. Where did you read about it?”

“We were at the Burrow this morning and Mrs. Weasley could not believe what she had just read in the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_ and demanded to know how much I knew. I told her I didn’t know anything, had not heard anything, so she told me I had to get answers.”

That was right. Hermione remembered the Sunday morning Weasley family breakfasts. Percy clearly still did not care about those if he was at work every Sunday. She also remembered her former, would-be mother-in-law, if not entirely fondly. Hermione could imagine that Harry had gotten an earful.

“So… you’re only here at Mrs. Weasley’s behest?” Hermione said, crossing her arms. She knew she was being unfair to Harry; that was not the only reason he wanted to talk to her, but she still needed to get lunch. She fought the urge the check her watch. 

“No, I mean after I heard, I was worried about you too,” Harry said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and kicking an errant pebble.

Hermione was pretty sure she was not allowed to tell Harry that all of it was a phony setup. If he really knew her, surely he would realize that this was purely political. And if he really knew Snape, he would know the man would never willingly pose for cutesy engagement photos.

“Worried?” she said, feigning surprise. “I’m getting married; it’s a joyous occasion.”

“Hermione, I haven’t heard from you in months—almost a year—and the first thing I hear about you is that you’re getting married to our teacher?”

Hermione wanted to say that owls worked both ways and he could have reached out to her at any time but she held her tongue on that front. “Are you really that surprised? I was going to have to get married soon anyway.”

“But what about your career? You told me you could not marry Ron because you wanted to focus on your career.”

Hermione could have laughed at the irony. Did he not realize this was all about her career? “Your brother-in-law only gives me so much time for lunch, so if you’d be so kind as excuse me…”

“You’re really not going to talk to me?” Harry said.

Hermione’s self-control was at its breaking point. “Why not? You haven’t been talking to me.” Great. Now they were fighting.

“We tried to talk to you! We tried to invite you to things, but you’ve been so busy with your job and you kept declining… Eventually we gave up trying.”

“What was I supposed to do, Harry?”

“You were supposed to care about us, Hermione! Some things are more important than a job. You know how much you hurt Ron when you told him you cared more about your stupid little job and the power it gave you? For someone who claims to dislike Percy so much, you’re just like him.”

“That’s not the only reason Ron and I split. There were other reasons we didn’t work; you didn’t get the whole story!”

“What about this?” Harry said, pulling a rolled up magazine from his pocket. “Is this the whole story?”

“No—”

“But you won’t tell me, will you?”

“Harry, I—”

“I thought we were friends, Hermione.” Harry said, before walking away. He stopped, but did not turn to look at her. “Don’t bother coming to the wedding.”

Hermione’s tears fell fat and wet as she left the Ministry. She had cast a Notice-Me-Not charm so she could cry in peace. Normally she would not be worried about being noticed by a passerby, but she remained aware of the fact that Percy had so kindly reminded her—she was once again a prime target for gossip pieces.

Harry had made some good points, she could admit as much. She might be becoming what she hated most, but didn’t he see she had to get in power to stop this from happening ever again? Her and Ron’s relationship may have been a casualty of that fact, but if he wasn’t going to support her career, how good could have their relationship been anyway?

Merlin, so much to think about. Hermione wished she did not have to think sometimes. The worry seemed to be eating her from the inside; her thoughts threatened to consume her at any moment.

* * *

Severus woke up early Monday morning feeling refreshed. He hardly needed the cup of coffee which he sipped from as he worked in his greenhouse, harvesting the ingredients he needed for the day’s potions. Despite the cold outside, the greenhouse remained toasty warm—thanks to magic—and Severus worked in a t-shirt. The sun had not yet risen but the light from the lumos he had cast reflected off the freshly-fallen snow, fully illuminating the space.

After apparating to London, Severus treated himself to another coffee from a cafe, a luxury he did not often afford himself. Even though it was still early yet, it still felt odd for Severus to be out and about so freely without fear of being recognized. He had to admit it was rather freeing. Maybe he could live like this. 

Later that day, at his shop, Severus had already finished two orders and was in the middle of the third, when he Todd popped in. The man did not usually greet Severus until the first customer of the day, but maybe he was coming in to congratulate Severus on his wedding announcement. Severus fought the urge to snort. Even if Todd knew, he would not be likely to bring it up.

“Sir,” Todd said, upon entering, “I don’t know how to say this, but there’s a large group of people outside wanting to talk to you.”

So it begins, he thought. “And what did you tell them?”

“I told them you didn’t work here, like you’ve always said.”

Severus nodded. “And what will you do if they won’t leave?”

“Kindly ask them to buy something or vacate the premises.”

“Excellent. I think there may be a raise for you in the future.” Well, provided Granger was telling the truth when she had said he would be receiving a tax break. He had yet to see that promise in writing. He probably should not be cooperating without it. But if people really were going to buy something on the off-chance they might get a glimpse of him, perhaps he would not need it at all.

Todd looked pleased and left promptly to do his job. He probably knew exactly why their tiny establishment had become so busy as of late, but was keeping his thoughts to himself. Severus wondered how the whole thing must seem to his young employee but if it meant more money on his paycheck, Severus did not expect to hear a bad word from the man.

Strange, Severus thought, laughing to himself. If he had known an engagement would have been good for business, he would have gotten married sooner. Then again, this whole situation was the perfect storm of government, media, and Granger-meddling; it wouldn’t have happened any other way. Merlin, his life was weird. And it was only about to be weirder.

* * *

“I see you remembered to wear it today,” Percy said, sitting on Hermione’s desk. He was almost on top of the document she was poring over—the pages brushed up against his leg—but he at least had the smallest amount of courtesy to not smudge her work under his butt. That and he probably did not want any wet ink staining his khakis.

“Yep,” Hermione said, still looking at her document. But what she wanted to do was throw the damn thing out the nearest window for all the trouble it had been causing her. She had arrived at work early that morning bury herself in her work so she would not have to think too hard about being rebuked by her (formerly) closest friend. 

She was not too disappointed about the wedding if it meant she had a legitimate excuse not to see someone’s face and his new, alleged plus one. But did this also mean she was never going to see Harry or Ginny ever again? Perhaps this was a long-time coming. Harry was right; they had not spoken in months. Was this the beginning of the end for their friendship? 

“You’ve read any of the letters yet?” he asked, gesturing to the basket stuffed with envelopes of all shapes and colors. The basket had been placed on her desk before she arrived but Hermione had learned long ago to not do anything without explicit instruction.

“Nope,” Hermione said, putting down her pen and looking into his horn-rimmed eyes, familiar, yet cold. She hated when he sat on her desk but mostly because he situated himself so that she had to look up to talk to him.

“Well, that’s your priority today.”

Hermione squinted at her boss, trying to discern if he was joking. Surely, he was joking. She knew there were more important things that she could be doing than reading fan mail. Well, more likely hate mail. Only incensed people had ever written her letters. They were the only ones crazy enough to pick up a quill and put their thoughts to parchment.

“And not your usual, form letter—I want individualized responses.”

So, mot only did she have to read their letters, she had to respond to them as well? “Mr. Weasley, what about the—” Hadn’t he just told her the other day that he needed her “in the trenches” accomplishing their other policy goals?

“No, we have the bandwidth for you to do just that. Plus this came from the big man himself, part of our charm offensive.”

Hermione wanted to complain but knew it was fruitless. She doubted this order had come directly from Kingsley, but Percy knew she would never challenge him on that. This was probably just another sadistic attempt to demean her at work and to pressure her to quit.

“You know, Hermione,” Percy began, forcing her attention back to him, “you’re becoming a politician in your own right. You’re not just the assistant to the assistant of the minister anymore. 

“I’m almost don’t want to admit it, but I’m a bit jealous of you at the moment, Hermione. All of this positive attention from the people and the minister himself. Don’t squander this opportunity; it could be big for you.”

Percy left and Hermione was left with a mounting sense of optimism. Maybe Percy had been telling the truth. Maybe she should be grateful for this opportunity. So what if she had to marry Snape if it jump-started her career? Maybe she should stop being so down on herself and just think positively.

And then she opened the first letter. Nothing like a stranger telling you how morally repugnant you are to put you back in your place. She did not know if it was after the fourth or fifth time of being called a tart before Hermione had realized that whatever Percy had said to her was utter nonsense, a ploy to get her to do what he had wanted her to. If anyone did belong in politics, it was a manipulative bastard like him.

Hermione had only written three responses before she had to break for lunch. She walked to her usual restaurant, but found the place packed with people. She was not even sure if she could get in to even grab her order, when she felt someone gently tap her on the shoulder.

“Hello,” she heard a familiar voice say.

“Oh, hello,” she said, turning to face Snape. “It’s mobbed in there, I’ve never seen it so busy.” Thank goodness the situation provided a conversation starter.

“Yes,” he said, not really looking at her. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“Together?” Hermione asked. Snape nodded. It was, admittedly, a dumb question but she was once again surprised by his offer. Anyone else she might have suspected of just trying to be nice, but not Severus Snape. She had not known him to do anything just to be nice. 

“Er,” she started, not fully knowing how she was going to answer yet. She did not have a lot of time on her hands. “Yes, thank you for the offer. But can we make it quick?” After the fact, Hermione supposed that must have come off as rude but if Snape had thought so, his face had not indicated anything of the sort.

“Yes, we can do something fast,” he replied.

In the end, Hermione was not entirely sure why she had agreed on going with him. Maybe she felt bad for having turned him down the first time. He was, after all, only talking to her because she had begged him to help her out of this marriage mess. The least she could do was be nice to him.

“Sounds great,” Hermione said, waiting for him to start walking or direct her on how to proceed.

Snape made no mention of where they were going or how they were getting there but began walking in the direction of the little alley they had used previously. Hermione followed, still wondering why she had agreed to this, when he turned and offered a gloved hand. 

When they reemerged in a different alley, Hermione immediately disengaged her hand. It was not as if he wanted to hold her hand, but she wondered how rude Snape must think of her. She would have to make a concerted effort to be more polite in the future. But for all of her social gaffes, Snape simply turned from her in the direction of the bustling sidewalk.

The two walked in silence which Hermione found immensely discomforting. She felt like she needed to say something, but topics of conversation were currently evading her.

“How are you?” she asked, going with the standard.

He was slightly ahead of her and did not turn to look at her before responding, “Fine. And you? Are you well?”

Hermione did not know if she should answer truthfully or not. She certainly did not feel fine; she felt on the verge of tears at any given moment, but she did not think he needed to know that, so she also responded with “fine.”

After that brief exchange, they were already back to silence, but they had also reached the restaurant. It was one of those chains found all over London, so Hermione wondered why they had bothered apparating to this one, when surely there had been another one within walking distance.

Snape seemed to have been reading her mind—well, not actually, obviously—because he said, “I like this particular establishment because I can usually find a table.”

True to his word, they were seated immediately. Hermione ordered a black coffee and for once, not a ham and cheese sandwich, but something vegetarian, with falafel and spinach. Snape got a caprese sandwich on a baguette and ordered his own black coffee.

“How has business been?” Hermione asked, grasping for anything to talk about. Why did she agree to go to lunch with him again? If they were not going to speak, what was the point?

“Very busy as of late,” he said.

“Why?” she asked. Her question was the natural response to such a statement but she was surprised to realize that she was actually curious to hear of his answer. But it also might just have been her usual, inquisitive personality.

Snape looked at her, amused. “All of the good press, I guess.”

Hermione wanted to hide her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that they would expose your place of business like that. I should’ve told them explicitly not to.”

“It’s fine,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “Todd—my assistant—told them they couldn’t loiter if they weren’t going to buy anything, so sales are up.”

“Yes, but the reason you covered up your involvement in the shop in the first place is because you did not want to be bothered. This sounds bothersome.”

“Todd is going a great job keeping them from me and I was able to sneak away for lunch, which is nice.”

The two both took a sip of their coffees. “How about you? Have you been affected by this?” he asked, setting his cup down. This is exactly where Hermione did not want the conversation to go, but she should have realized it was inevitable.

“Percy has me on letter duty. So I get to read and respond to all of these letters about how much of a whore I am.”

Snape just looked at her, with a sort of mix of pity and confusion.

“Did you read any of the stories written about us?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

Snape shook his head, “No. I definitely do not care to patronize such institutions.”

“Yes, well, I think in order to sell the idea that we would be getting together out of love and not because one of us was being forced to—” Hermione stopped. She did not really want him to know this about her; she was comfortable with him going to the grave without this information. “The media was always confused as to why I broke off my engagement with Ron, so I think they might have implied that I was always in love with you.” She grimaced. “So some people have taken it upon themselves to tell me I’m a two-timing slut.”

“Oh,” Snape said, staring at his food. “I’m sorry you have to endure this.”

“I should be the one apologizing to you. It is my fault after all.”

“And yet I am benefiting financially from this fake relationship. What have you gotten, beyond more work and public scorn?”

“I got this worthless thing,” Hermione said, holding up her hand, wiggling her left ring finger.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “It may not have much of a purpose or even sentimental value, but I definitely think it has monetary worth.”

Hermione laughed. “Maybe I could sell it and use the money to buy a plane ticket to a country without stupid reactionary laws about marriage.”

“Is that what you want?” Snape asked.

“That is what I should have done.”

“You could still do it.”

“Is that what _you_ want?” Hermione asked. She realized how much it sounded like teasing. Snape smiled briefly, his teeth making an appearance. Hermione was not sure if she had ever seen him smile with teeth.

“I would lose my free publicity, but I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did. Where would you go?” Hermione was surprised he did not mention also being let out a fake marriage. 

Hermione considered the question while she looked out the window to the bundled-up masses walking by. “Definitely somewhere warm.”

“That’s not very specific.”

“Maybe I would do it like in the movies. Walk up to the ticket counter and say ‘Get me on the next plane to somewhere warm.’”

“Sounds like you’re really thinking about it. Do I have to worry about you getting cold feet?” he asked. Hermione felt her face get hot. “That came out wrong,” Snape added quickly. “I really won’t be upset if you decide to leave without telling me. In fact, I probably would do the same thing in your situation.”

“No, I just keep forgetting that it’s more than just an engagement, that we have to get married too.”

Snape did not smile and just looked at his food. Hermione figured he probably kept forgetting this fact too. She could not imagine feeling obligated to marry your former student, especially one you found particularly annoying.

“It won’t be forever; I hope you know that. Once I’m minister, I will repeal the law and annul our marriage.”

“Well, isn’t that romantic?”

Hermione tried to pay for her own lunch but Snape insisted on covering hers as well, once again bringing up the windfall he was receiving from curious witches and wizards. Although it was a nice gesture, Hermione could not help but feel uneasy. Eventually the interest in his shop would dwindle, right? His sales bump would not continue indefinitely. And then who would be benefiting from whom?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter as a reward for me having to go to work today at 4 am :D

Severus said goodbye to Granger after their lunch and watched her disapparate into the cool day. Once again, he had not known exactly why he had invited her to eat with him again, but he was starting to regret it. He felt bad for her and he felt selfish for telling her about how he was profiting off their engagement. She had talked about wanting to get away and he had joked about her being a flight risk. That might be the best option for her, but after all Severus had said during that exchange, she might feel guilty about dropping their whole charade.

Still, he could not stop thinking about how nice it had been to talk to someone for once. Severus hated to admit it, but he had started feeling lonely and his brief exchanges with Todd just weren’t cutting it anymore. He was pathetic. It was not like she wanted to actually talk to him, someone who had been mean to her, and made her life miserable. She probably only agreed because she was being nice; she was so busy and did not have time to sit down and talk to someone she was being forced to marry.

While Severus brewed in his workshop that afternoon, he had a sudden inclination that he should write to her and tell her that she was free to go at any time and that he did not want her to feel like she was tied down. But would that seem too clingy? Merlin. He was fretting over this like a schoolboy. 

“Sir,” Todd said, interrupting his spiralling thoughts. “I know you told me to keep everyone away unless they bought something, but—and I’ve been trying to ignore this for the sake of your privacy—there’s a man here, claiming to be your fiancée’s father.”

“What does he look like?”

“Red-haired, balding, glasses.”

Severus sighed. That was definitely not Hermione’s father. He had had a hunch. Granger’s father was a muggle and would have been unable to get into Diagon Alley without her. He should have expected being confronted by other members of the Order, wondering what he had done to let their precious Golden Girl tie herself to him. He would be suspicious himself if he were in Arthur’s shoes. After all, was there anything redeeming about him?

“Let him in,” Severus said with a sigh. He held his wand, prepared to protect himself should the need arise.

Arthur came in, not looking like he was ready to fight, but rather wearing a curious expression as his eyes travelled about the room before landing squarely on Severus.

“Severus,” he said coolly.

“Arthur,” Severus replied, still gripping his wand.

“I trust you know why I’m here.” Severus nodded. He watched Arthur’s eyes dart to his wand.

“I came here merely for clarification, not to accuse you of anything,” Arthur began. “Although Hermione is no longer my daughter-in-law, I have always felt protective of her, as her own parents are ignorant of our world. And although I respect her decision to no longer speak to us, I am concerned for her well-being.

You must realize how odd it seems to someone like me, when we have not seen you in many years and all of sudden, you resurface with an engagement announcement to a woman who could be old enough to be your daughter.”

Severus nodded again. He agreed. It would seem odd.

“And?” Arthur said.

“And what?” Severus asked.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Severus had not explicitly been told how much he was allowed to say to people not in the know, but he figured—despite his relatively high position in the ministry—that he ought not let Arthur in on the secret.

“No. Everything you’ve said is true. But.. I will say that I do not intend Miss Granger harm and that this marriage was for our mutual benefit.”

“Is it true that she was in love with you?”

Severus gave the man a look that said “what do you think?” He was fairly certain he could share this bit of information. After all, if Arthur was claiming to be a pseudo-father figure to Granger, then he should already know that she had not wasted any time pining over Severus.

“I figured as much. I just wondered how much of that article was true. I do remember her spending almost that entire summer at St. Mungo’s with you, so I knew there was some truth to the story.”

Severus paused, thinking about what the man had said. He knew he had been in a bad way and unconscious for that entire time, but did not know what Arthur meant by saying she spent the summer with him.

“You’re referring to the summer following the war?” Severus asked. He had no idea what Arthur had meant, but he knew, as a former spy, it was better to not play dumb. Especially since he and Hermione were supposedly engaged to be married.

“Yes, we all dealt with our grief differently. I figured that was how she dealt with hers—making daily trips to the hospital to read to you and to ensure you were being treated well, despite the fact that it was not yet proven that you had fought for the good side.”

He looked at the man standing opposite him, but kept his features even. Arthur would not lie about something so weird as this.

“She kept in touch with you, didn’t she? Even after you went into hiding?” Arthur asked. Severus just nodded, hoping the man was not feeding him false information to figure out how much he actually knew. “You owed her that much, after she saved you and cleared your name.”

Saved me? Severus thought. Maybe Granger thought she was helping by reading to an unconscious man, but he would hardly call that “saving.”

Arthur looked thoughtful for a moment, before his eyebrows shot up. “That’s why you’re doing this, aren’t you? She needed a husband to follow the law and you got engaged as a favor to her!”

“Yes,” Severus said, firmly decided that this was not a breach of secrecy, since it did not involve the ministry at all. “But please don’t tell the others, since it may reflect poorly on her and affect her career.”

Arthur held out his hand, smiling broadly at Severus. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” he said, shaking Severus’s hand. “Our Hermione really knows, doesn’t she? She always defended you. You’re a good man, Severus.”

After saying their farewells, Severus watched the man leave his workshop, his mind going over the information he had just learned. He needed to find out more; he needed to read those articles.

Before leaving the shop, Severus donned a glamor and stuffed his hair into a knitted cap, for good measure. He also wrapped his face in a scarf, which was not the worst disguise for a cold day.

“Be right back,” he told Todd before disapparating.

Severus did not usually buy magical media publications, but he was fairly certain there was still a newsstand on Diagon Alley. Approaching the throng of people gathered around this newsstand, Severus was able to see what they were excitedly looking at due to his above-average height. His own, conventionally unattractive face graced the cover and front page of every newspaper, magazine, and tabloid. His stomach lurched and for a moment he thought he might be sick.

There were so many. How could there be so many? Was there really a market for this schlock? Moreover, which one should he buy? Did they all contain the same information? Which one contained the most “true” information, whatever that meant? In the end, he just bought the ones that he remembered as having the most credibility, but considering the _ Prophet _ was in that mix, he did not think that was saying much. He walked away, his gloved hand stuffed with newsprint and glossy magazine paper, feeling like an utter weirdo.

Severus still had many orders to finish, so he was not able to read anything before getting home and at a much later time than usual. He wondered briefly if Hermione was still at work, toiling unappreciated, but he quickly shut that down. He had other, more pressing things to think about.

As expected, many pieces talked about his secret business. But what he had not expected, was the amount of candid shots of him and Hermione. Some pictures from before they had even announced their engagement. And their engagement pictures—Severus remembered how miserable Hermione had looked during, but something the photographers had done had turned her flustered cheeks into the blushing bride, her tears of defeat into tears of joy, and her apprehension into hope for their imagined future. It was reviling, even more than his ugly mug, which they had mostly left alone. He looked as stoic as ever, but he doubted anyone expected him to be anything but.

Skimming, Severus tried nuggets of truth in the mines of bullshit. Finally, he found something that Arthur had mentioned in the _ Prophet _ :

“Avid readers will remember that Hermione Granger was once engaged to Ron Weasley, fellow member of the Golden Trio—the trio who took down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which also included the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter—however Miss Granger ended their engagement without giving a reason. Today, readers, we may finally have our answer in the form of the announcement to another war hero (albeit of another generation) Severus Snape. Snape, was a former Death Eater turned double agent for the light side, as well as former Hogwarts potions professor, defense against the dark arts professor and even served a short tenure as the school’s headmaster.

Astute readers may have realized that Severus Snape was a professor of Hermione Granger’s, which may sound suspicious, but sources close to the couple assured the _ Daily Prophet _ that their relationship began long after Miss Granger was under Mr. Snape’s tutelage. But this source also claims that it was Miss Granger who saved Mr. Snape’s life after a potentially fatal bite to the neck by You-Know-Who’s pet snake by administering an antidote of her own devising, stanching the bleeding, and bringing him to St. Mungo’s herself.

But the story does not end there, dear readers, for Miss Granger also allegedly visited Mr. Snape every day in the hospital, reading to him from potions textbooks and research journals, as well as haranguing his doctors and nurses to give him the best care, despite many still thinking he was a war criminal. Readers may remember that Miss Granger was his staunchest proponent, tirelessly working to get him exonerated. (Sources say she may even be why he was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class). 

It is here, one may speculate that their relationship began, but the Daily Prophet can neither confirm or deny that this was indeed the case. All we know is that it blossomed into love despite Mr. Snape’s self-imposed exile from the magical world, which we now can confirm was spent as the owner and proprietor of a little apothecary, The Creeping Vine, located on an offshoot of Diagon Alley. Sources close to the couple—and to Mr. Snape especially—said that he was propelled into action by the passing of the Marriage Law.”

Severus put the paper down, staring at nothing in particular, lost in his own thoughts. Now he wished he had never read anything. How would he ever be able to talk to Hermione again, knowing what he knew now? Arthur had verified that some parts of this story were certainly true. Should he feel disgusted, that he was just another one of her lost causes to save? Why had she done all of that? What had he meant to her? Even he knew he had been objectively terrible to her, yet she had decided it was worth all of her time and effort to help him. To what end? Arthur had told him that she had always stood up for him. How long was always? Had she had a crush on him? Is that why she had asked him to marry him? Severus’s stomach churned at the thought.

He crumpled up the paper, having found the answers he had sought, but feeling more confused than ever. He threw all of the “reading” material into his fireplace and watched his ugly face burn to a crisp. But before her face disappeared become ash, Severus remembered once more how miserable she had looked that day. Had she looked like someone who had harbored a secret crush her entire life? Someone who was achieving her dream by marrying her fantasy man? No. Severus felt the guilt wash over him. He had let himself be influenced by this drivel. And if anything, he should work harder to be the “husband” she needed, whatever that meant.


	8. Chapter 8

After a long day of work—a day made even longer by her lunch with Snape—Hermione was finally home. She shed her coat, scarf, hat, mittens, and her boots, all of which she put away neatly into the closet by the door. Walking into her kitchen, she saw her answering machine’s light blinking. She only had a phone to call her parents, so Hermione already knew exactly whom the message was from. Normally she would have just called them back, but it was way past their bedtimes, so she put in her passcode and listened to the message.

“Hermione Jean Granger!” she heard her mother yell into the receiver. Hermione did not remember hearing her mother sound so angry beyond the time she restored their memories after their rather brief stint in Australia. “I cannot believe you would do this to us. When were you planning on telling us that you are engaged to be married? I just got off the phone with that funny man, Arthur Weasley, and he says you’re engaged to your former teacher because of some new law. What are you thinking?”

“Hermione.” Hermione’s father got on the line. “What your mother is saying that we’re worried about you.” Join the club, Hermione thought. “We have not heard from you in awhile so imagine our surprise when we learned our only daughter is getting married. Can you meet us this weekend for dinner? And bring your fiancé too?”

Hermione heard her parents fighting and her father telling her mother that she had said enough before she heard the click of the receiver and the message had ended. Hermione’s heart sank. She had wanted to tell them but she had been waiting until the best moment had arisen, even though she knew there was never a good time to tell your parents that you were starting a fake marriage with a man nearly twice your age. But instead Arthur had beaten her to the punch, reinforcing the idea that she really was the worst daughter in the world. And she doubted that Arthur had clarified exactly _why_ she was doing it since he was not privy to that information. Merlin, this was going to be hard to explain.

The following day Hermione arrived at work at the crack of dawn, handing Percy his coffee. Percy, as per usual, took the drink without saying anything, continuing to read and take notes with the scratchiest quill she had ever heard. Hermione hung up her coat and sat down at her desk, her attention drawn to the monstrous binder now situated on top of her planner. On the cover, in swirly calligraphy, “Wedding Planning” was written. Hermione almost dropped her coffee. She had only barely stemmed the tide of letters and now she was going to be demoted to wedding planning?

Hermione picked up the binder and noisily placed it down on the corner of her desk, far from where she did her real, actual, meaningful work.

“I see you found the binder,” Percy said, finally acknowledging Hermione. How could I not, Hermione thought, it’s ginormous. “I had Phaedra put that together.” Wow, another employee doing something very important and totally necessary and not a waste of the employee’s time or taxpayer money. “You know, since she’s planning her own wedding.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Hermione said, noncommittally. Though she realized after a beat that this meant Phaedra was likely also being forced into an early marriage. At least they had that in common.

“In fact, you and Phaedra will start having regular meetings to start preparing for this wedding.”

“Is that so? Will I be paid for this?” Hermione asked, only half-joking. She would not put it past Percy to make her work overtime to compensate for the time she would already be spending on a wedding she did not want.

“Funny you should ask. At first, I told Phaedra that she could do everything herself and that we just needed you there at the altar on the big day. But then she insisted on you having a hand in the process. It is your wedding, after all, and how often does a woman get married?” Percy punctuated his question with a sneer. “Phaedra also promised that it would not take very much of your time every week, so I relented. In short, yes, you will be paid.”

“And she’s not upset that she has to do all this extra work for someone else’s wedding?”

“This is her full-time job now.”

“It is?” Hermione asked incredulously. Merlin, how serious was this?

“Yes. This wedding _has_ to be perfect. So we decided it would be better if she had her entire attention devoted to it.” Hermione could not complain because she certainly did not want to plan this wedding, but it would have been nice to have been consulted, even a little bit. “And it’s in a couple of weeks, so—” 

If Hermione had had coffee in her mouth that moment, she might have done a spit take. “A couple of weeks?” she said, barely concealing her disbelief.

“Oh, I must have forgotten to tell you,” Percy simpered. “The _Prophet_ told us the slowest news cycle was immediately after the holiday season and we have to strike while the public’s attention is still hot, so to speak. So, we are going ahead with a New Year’s wedding.”

Hermione’s anxiety ratcheted up to an eleven. Sure, there was always the thought in the back of her mind that she was getting married, but in a couple of weeks? The end of her singledom was fast approaching and she would be spending it working and planning a stupid propaganda wedding. Not to mention the added stress of the holidays. Wonderful.

At least this year she would not have to buy presents for each of the Weasleys; that was something to look forward to. And now that she was engaged, her parents would not treat her like she was made of glass, liable to burst into tears at any given moment. Her parents, she thought, crap. “Sir, while we I still have your attention, may I get out early this Sunday?”

“How early, Hermione?” Percy asked, exasperated. 

“In time for Sunday roast? Please, my parents would like to meet my fiancé.”

“Hermione,” he said, adopting a patronizing tone. “Your parents have not met Snape yet? What kind of daughter are you?”

“I have been working so much that I haven’t really had the chance.”

“I guess I can make an exception for you just this once, but you should be thankful you even have a job. Don’t know why you’re complaining.”

If Hermione were unafraid of getting charged with assault and spending a stint in Azkaban, she might have whipped that binder at Percy’s dumb, bespectacled face. Though now that Hermione thought about it, prison would be one way to avoid the marriage law.

Fuck, she still had to tell Snape about the dinner with her parents. She was not even sure he would want to go. It was not like he was contractually obligated to join her, especially since Sunday was his day off. She was going to have a great time explaining that to her parents. “Hello, mum and dad. Yes, sorry, my soon-to-be-husband could not make it. Well, more like he did not want to come because he hates my guts and I forced this upon him because I’m being strong-armed into a marriage by my employer. Anyway, how are you two? Watched anything interesting on television lately?”

Hermione opened her drawer and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began drafting a letter to Snape in which she would attempt to verbally prostrate herself before him so that he might humor her with a trip to her parents’ house. Merlin, that sounded miserable. Were his parents still alive? Would she have to do the same thing?

Once again she addressed the letter to Todd because she was not sure if he had enchantments up to protect his own hate mail. Hermione was lucky all of her mail was rerouted to her place of work so at least she would not have to deal with howlers at home. The Ministry received so many howlers in a day, that enchantments had been placed long ago to destroy them before they exploded. The information was common knowledge, but did that stop people from sending them? Not at all. And still on letter duty for the time being, Hermione was pleased that those were letters she did not have to answer.

* * *

Severus had been thinking about buying more tentacula seedlings when Todd entered his sanctum carrying a letter. Severus’s pulse crept up; it had to be from Hermione. She was the only person who had figured out a loophole in his anti-letter enchantments. Once Todd had gone, Severus made quick work of removing the note from its envelope and quickly skimmed the contents.

“Hello Mr. Snape,

I am sorry to be contacting you again so soon, but unfortunately something has come up where once again your presence is requested. Fortunately, however, there will be no cameras involved. Unfortunately it is Sunday dinner at my parent’s house. I feel very bad about asking you to come, but my parents are adamant that they meet my fiancé, even if he is only a fake one. I know Sunday is your day off and you would probably rather get a root canal* than spend time with me getting to know my parents, I would very much appreciate you taking this bullet for me.

Forever in your debt,

Hermione Granger

*My parents are dentists so expect horrible jokes like this.”

Hermione was right. He did not want to meet her parents, but mostly because he was awkward around people he did not know. He also knew he would have to field a lot of uncomfortable questions about the nature of their relationship. It had been bad enough when he had to do that dance with Arthur, it would be another beast entirely when he would have to do it with her actual parents. Perhaps worst of all was the fact that Hermione had said they were dentists. Severus had horrible teeth and he was sure they would make a comment on them. They probably would be disappointed to have their precious daughter marry an ugly, old man with ugly teeth.

Still, Severus had made a promise to himself and to Hermione that he would be the best soon-to-be-husband that he could after she had saved his life. He still was not sure what that meant entirely, but enduring an awkward dinner seemed like the right first step.

* * *

Hermione was compulsively checking her watch. She was waiting for Snape at the meeting place and although he was not yet late, she could not help but feel like this whole thing was a disaster waiting to happen.

Snape arrived, prompt and freshly-shaven. She did not know why, but she thought she felt a pang of disappointment upon seeing his smooth face. Hermione swiftly quashed that feeling though. It was weird for her to have opinions on how Snaped looked. Besides, she could sympathize with his desire to put his best foot forward with her parents. Hermione was always trying to portray herself in the best light around them. 

“Thank you again—” Hermione began.

“How are you?” Snape said at the same time.

They both remained silent after that, patiently waiting for the other to continue. “Should we get going?” Snape asked, at last.

“Yes, of course, sorry,” Hermione said. This time it was her turn to hold out her mittened hand to him and lead the way. But before their hands touched, Hermione said a silent prayer that there was a layer of wool between them. She could not imagine doing this with bare hands. Her hands had sweated so profusely when they had first touched hands and even though his had also been sweaty, she wondered how disgusted he must have been. But once his gloved hand met her own, she focused her thoughts instead on her parents’ home, felt the characteristic tugging sensation and they were gone in an instant.

They reappeared on Hermione’s parents’ front step, in a spot she had her parents keep clean expressly for this purpose. Hermione was about to unclasp her hand from Snape’s, when she saw a panicked look cross his normally even features. Without so much of a thought, she gave him a smile and his hand a short squeeze. He looked at her, not confused or angry, just looked at her. She did not know why she had done it but it had seemed like the right thing to do in that moment.

Hermione knocked on the door, her hands becoming swamps in her mittens and her heart beating wildly in her ears. She did not know why her parents made her so nervous; she knew it was not normal to be so jumpy around one’s parents. Maybe it was because, above all else, she feared their disapproval.

Her father answered the door and upon seeing his daughter, pulled her in to give her a big hug. Then he turned his attention to Snape, to offer a handshake.

“Hello, you must be Mister Snape. I’m Harold.”

“Nice to meet you, Harold. You can call me Severus.”

Hermione gave herself a mental slap. How odd must it look to both her parents and Snape—Severus—that she only referred to him by his last name. It was like she had almost forgotten he had a first name.

“Jean,” her father said, calling up the stairs, “Hermione and er, Severus are here.”

Hurried footsteps were followed by the appearance of Hermione’s mother in the doorway.

“Hello, Hermione. So nice to finally see you. And you must be Professor Snape,” Hermione’s mum said, taking Snape’s proffered hand. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Not all of it good, I’m assuming,” Snape said, which earned a round of laughs from her parents.

“Dear, his name is Severus,” her father corrected gently.

“Is that so? What an interesting name! Then again,” her mother laughed, “we did name our own daughter Hermione.”

Her mum beckoned them inside while her dad offered to take their coats.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” her mum said. “Would either of you like a glass of wine?”

Hermione, perhaps too quickly, agreed to one. Snape, however, politely declined. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

Hermione looked at the man standing beside her. She did not know this about him. She remembered having seen him drinking at the Three Broomsticks at school. Had he quit? Or was he just saying that because he wanted to keep his wits about him? And now that she was seeing him without his hat, was she crazy or had he cut his hair? It was not drastically shorter, but upon closer inspection, he definitely got a trim. Or maybe he had done it himself. He seemed the type of man to cut his own hair. Or maybe she should stop being weird about his appearance. It was not as if he looked at her in that way.

“What would you like instead?” Hermione’s mum offered.

“Water is fine,” Snape said.

“Harold, what will go well with the roast?” her mother called to her father who was futzing in the other room.

“I would think a nice bottle of cab sauv will pair nicely,” he called back.

“I don’t like cab sauv.”

“What about a bordeaux?”

“You know I like white wines better.”

“Dear, white does not go with beef.”

Her mum went into the other room and returned with a bottle of pinot grigio. She uncorked it and poured herself a glass.

“Hermione, would you like some of this or do you want what your father will pick out?”

Snape had had the right idea when he had asked for water. Hermione did not care whether the wine paired well with dinner, she just wanted to not feel so anxious. “The pinot is fine, mum. Don’t open another bottle for my sake.”

“Don’t worry. Your father will open his bottle too.”

“I’ll have both then,” Hermione joked. Her mum apparently did not think she was joking because she gave her a disapproving look. “The white is fine; just give me the white.” Hermione had learned at a young age that it was better to appease her mother, who handed her the glass, which Hermione began drinking immediately. And when she was not sipping from it, she fiddled with the stem.

“So, you got engaged because of some law,” Hermione’s mother said. “How did such a law get passed?”

“Ask your daughter. It was her administration,” Snape said, not a hint of bitterness in his voice but Hermione could still tell it was there, just under the surface.

“I told them it was a bad idea, mum, but they’re worried about declining birth rates in our community.”

“And you said you’re the poster child for this law?”

“That was the plan, mum.”

“So, when are you going to have your first kid?”

Hermione was in the middle of sipping her wine but had to spit it back into the glass. She did not want to get into this with her mother in front of Snape, especially since she had already made her feelings about having children abundantly clear to her parents. A fake husband certainly did not change that.

“They can’t make me have a kid,” Hermione said.

“Why not? They made you get married. You don’t think you’re going to start receiving pressure to conceive?”

“Mum, can we talk about this later?” Hermione said, feeling desperate. Snape did not need to be reminded of that fact. She did not want to be with him in that way, and there was no way he wanted to either.

Just then, Hermione heard Snape say, “Hello, there.” Hermione looked at him and followed his line of sight to the ground, where Crookshanks was currently rubbing his body against Snape’s legs.

“That’s Crookshanks, Severus,” Hermione’s dad said, returning from the other room, probably to move the conversation from its current trajectory. “Looks like he likes you.” 

“He is technically Hermione’s cat but she gave him to us to watch because she’s always at work,” her mum added.

Snape bent down to scratch him under the chin. “He’s part-kneazle, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, feeling inordinately hurt that her cat had not come to greet her. Traitor, she thought.

“Have you started planning the wedding?” Hermione’s mother asked.

“No,” Hermione said, feeling a migraine coming on. “But I have to soon.”

“Do you have a date in mind?”

“Yes, mum, some time after New Year’s.”

“New Year’s? That’s not far off! How are you going to get everything done?”

“I know but that’s what they told me. But don’t worry they’re helping me at work.”

“That’s hardly enough time to get invitations out! And I’m assuming you won’t want your family there.”

“Since it’s a ministry-sponsored event, I did not think they would be able to attend, no.” Muggles and magic did not mix.

“It really is terrible that you don’t want your family there. And I’m assuming you don’t want any help from your mother?”

“So, Severus, now that you’re not a teacher, what do you do?” Hermione’s father cut in.

“Hermione, already told us, dear. He sells potions.”

“How could I forget?” he said, clearly just trying to pivot once more. “And how’s business?”

“Good,” Snape said. Hermione was sure he was not about to add that it was better that he was in the papers. He—she assumed—knew better than to promote the fact that he was benefiting financially from pretending to be fake engaged to their daughter.

“What do you make?”

“Everything from arthritis treatments to treatments for baldness.”

“Do you make products for family planning?” Hermione’s mum asked.

“If my clients ask for it, yes.”

“Mum...” Hermione said.

“Jean,” Hermione’s dad added.

“What? It’s an innocent question,” Hermione’s mum asked, coyly, taking a sip from her wine glass. Hermione thought her eyes might roll into her head. Her mother had never had much of a filter and it was deteriorating with age. The microwave began beeping, just in the nick of time. “Oh, dinner’s ready!”

* * *

Severus could not see Hermione’s face when he sat beside her at the dinner table but she was sure it was one of mortification. His skills in Occlumency and a lifetime of spying seemed to have also prepared Severus for meeting parents. Hardly anything could faze him, but the question about contraception came pretty close.

“Dinner is wonderful, Dr. Granger,” Severus said trying to fill the silence that seemed to close to strangling the room.

“Thank you, but please, call me Jean,” she said with a smile. Severus could see the resemblance between the mother and the daughter. Except for the hair, of course. Hermione seemed to have gotten that gene from her father. “Do you cook Severus?”

“Yes, I quite enjoy cooking. I find it is similar to brewing potions.”

“That’s wonderful, because Hermione cannot cook to save her life. Dinner with us is probably the only time she ever gets a home-cooked meal.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, mum. We aren’t actually going to live together.”

“And why not, dear?”

“Because we’re not actually getting married- _married_! There is no reason for us to live together.”

“You could save money on rent, though. That is reason enough.”

“My apartment is centrally-located. I like being able to walk to work.”

“Yes, and it’s very expensive, isn’t it? And you eat out all the time. How much money are you saving, dear?” Money talk. This could only get worse, Severus thought.

“Mum, it’s fine. My finances are fine.”

“Severus, where do you live?” Harold asked, trying to restore the peace.

“I live in a house in the country,” Severus responded, preparing himself to talk about his garden. Maybe the Grangers were gardeners. Surely, that would be a safe topic of conversation.

“And how do you get to work?” Jean asked.

“I also like walking, so I apparate part of the way there and walk the rest of the way.” He immediately regretted saying this because he knew it could be used as fodder against Hermione.

“See, Hermione, Severus still walks to work. It’s the same difference.” Yes. Exactly as Severus had predicted.

“Yes, but you see, mum, Sna—Se— _he_ doesn’t want to live with me.” The way she fumbled over his name was not lost on him.

“Why? What’s wrong with you?” Jean turned to face him then. “What’s wrong with my daughter?”

“Mum, he was kind enough to agree to marry me; he’s sacrificing enough—we don’t need to live together on top of that,” Hermione said, practically pleading.

“How many rooms do you have in your house? She works so much anyway—it won’t even be like she’s there.”

“Exactly, mum, if I work so much, what’s the point of living together?”

“Like I said earlier, you spend too much money on rent! How can you afford to raise a child if you’re not saving?” Severus could not help but watch Hermione’s reaction. She was now burying her face in her hands.

“Jean, I think you’ve made your point clear that Hermione spends too much on rent.”

“This isn’t a permanent thing, mum,” Hermione said, clearly at the end of her rope. “I don’t anticipate that we’re going to be married for long, so it would be a hassle to move in together only to have to move out later.”

“That’s good to hear, dear. I do want grandchildren—maybe with your second husband.”

The rest of the dinner was spent mostly in silence with Hermione’s father trying to sprinkle in points of conversation here and there. Unfortunately none of them stuck. Probably because Hermione was afraid at how they might lead back to her giving birth to children or paying too much for rent.

Finally it was time to leave. Severus shook Hermione’s dad’s hand but was shocked when Hermione’s mum pulled him in for a hug.

“Don’t you dare hurt her,” she whispered in his ear.

Once free of the threat, the two disapparated. Hermione let go instantly. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t think she would say all that. You behaved admirably though.”

“Do you want to talk about this somewhere else or shall we continue talking about it in this alley?” Severus offered.

“I don’t have anything else to say, really. I just wanted to apologize,” she said, looking away.

“I’d like to apologize too,” Severus said. He felt useless. He wanted to be of some comfort, but he was so useless in that regard.

“For what?” Hermione asked, now looking at him, her right eyebrow quirked.

“I’m sorry she says that stuff when it clearly makes you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t do any of those things though—why should you apologize?”

“I’m still sorry that that happens to you and I’m sorry that you’re in this situation.”

Hermione shook her head. “Still not your fault. It’s my fault, if we’re being honest. I wouldn’t be in this mess if I had just stayed with Ron like everyone wanted.”

Severus was surprised how much Granger’s comment rattled him. Perhaps because he worried there was some truth to it. Would she be happier if she were married to Weasley? At least she had loved him at some point. At least he had been her friend. What were they? They were just strangers.

Granger gave him a weak smile. “I have to go,” she said, smiling weakly. Here she was, with things to do and he was just standing there, lost in his own thoughts. “I have to be up early tomorrow. Thank you again.”

He was going to say goodbye but she had already disappeared with a pop before he could say anything. He stared at the spot from which she had disappeared for a moment longer before following her lead and disapparating himself.

Unlocking his door, turning on the lights, Severus looked around his house. It was not particularly large but he did have a spare room currently being used as an office that could be converted into a bedroom. Maybe it would not be so bad to have someone else in the house, even if she was only there to sleep. He would probably sleep a little bit easier for him knowing there was someone there, right down the hall.

But Severus knew it was fruitless to think of such things. This was a marriage—well, more like a partnership—of convenience. She would follow the law and he would get his money, simple as that. Cohabitation would only complicate the situation further. And there was no reason to make this even more difficult for themselves.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the incredibly nice comments! I want to respond to all them but I feel like some could stray into spoiler territory. Sometimes I feel like D&D reading the Game of Thrones subreddit, except I am not going to change stuff at the last minute. I think. I know how it's going to end but I'm heading into unwritten territory. Still, I am hopeful I can keep my same pace.

A cold wind whipped around Hermione’s head, threatening to steal her scarf, her hat, and the two coffees she held in a vice-like grip as she walked into the ministry that morning. Despite her somewhat bleak circumstances, she had woken up that day feeling hopeful and ready to tackle all of her problems. 

“Hermione,” Percy said, before Hermione even had a chance to sit down and get her wits about her. “I’ve been in touch with the press and while they did really like the bit about meeting the parents, they are clamoring for more material. I think we ought to have another meeting to brainstorm more photo opportunities.”

“Hang on, how did they know we were going to meet my parents?” Hermione asked, setting Percy’s coffee down hard onto his desk. 

“I told them,” Percy answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I tell them every time you meet with him. You did not see the candid shots in the papers?”

No, she absolutely did not. Hermione made a point of not reading what they wrote about her in order to maintain some semblance of sanity. She had learned that the first couple times she was grist for the gossip mill.

“Mr. Weasley,” she said trying to keep her tone polite and even. “I don’t know if I agree with that.” Candid shots? So, now people could figure out where her parents lived? “What about my parents’ privacy? What about _my_ privacy?”

“What privacy? You’re a ce-le-bri-ty.” Percy drew out the word as if it would help to underscore his point and not make him look like a total prick. Hermione was unwinding her scarf from her neck and trying not to wind it around his. “And if the media is going to convince anyone that you’re in love, they need more stories about you and Snape being in love.”

“Who told you that? The publishers? That sounds like a way for them to sell more papers than it sounds like it is helping our cause.”

“Then you didn’t read the report I put on your desk?” Percy asked with an accusatory tone. 

“No, I just got here!” Hermione said, holding back the desire to append some choice four-letter words into that statement.

“Well, if you had, you would have known that the rate at which engagements have been registered at the Department of Magical Births, Deaths, and Unions has increased. And yes, that number increased only after your engagement announcement.”

Hermione held back the urge to roll her eyes. That still did not prove anything. Marriages were going to increase regardless because people did not want to face the fines. No studies had been conducted to prove that this publicity had done anything except waste a lot of newsprint.

“If it worked, does that mean I can break off my own engagement, then?” Hermione said, half-serious. “Mission accomplished, am I right?”

“I’m only telling you this because you’re my friend, but… you should not try to make jokes, Hermione; you are not funny.” Hermione blinked. “And no, obviously, we would not stop now. Imagine how many people will want to get married after they see your wedding. Which, by the way, how has that been coming? Can you give me your status?”

“I’m—we’re working on it,” Hermione said. “I have a meeting with Phaedra later today.”

* * *

“Good morning!” Phaedra said, sounding chipper as ever, as Hermione entered her office. Hermione took the chair at the opposite side of Phaedra’s desk, on which she placed the ridiculously large binder.

This was the first time Hermione had ever been in her office and she could not help but feel a pang of jealousy. Whereas Hermione was forced to sit in an open room with Percy watching her every move, Phaedra had a door and even her own window. But the best part had to have been the twin bookshelves lining her walls. Hermione did not have room for a bookshelf and the two that Phaedra had were stacked to the brim with books of all shapes, sizes, and colors.

“So, how are you?” Phaedra asked. Normally Hermione would be wary of a coworker fishing for personal information—working with Percy had given her a warped view of work relations. But Phaedra had a charming smile and clear, expressive eyes that made Hermione want to tell her everything. Well, almost everything.

“A bit overwhelmed, if I’m being honest. But you must feel similarly?” Phaedra gave Hermione a confused look. “With your own wedding on the way?” Had Percy given her bad data? Was Phaedra not in fact getting married soon?

“Oh…” she said, frowning slightly. “Yes, but we don’t have to worry about that right now. This is all about you— _your_ big day. How exciting!”

Hermione knew the witch sitting opposite her was just trying to be friendly and maybe trying to inject a little bit of happiness into an otherwise abysmal situation. So, Hermione just smiled and nodded. Phaedra was not deserving of her ire. It was not as if she had anything to do with passing this law or forcing her to get married very soon and very publicly. And based on her response to Hermione’s questioning, Phaedra herself likely had mixed feelings about her own upcoming nuptials, even if she had a “real” significant other.

“Did you look over the binder at all?” Phaedra said, pulling the item in question to the center of the desk before opening it to the first page. After a moment of silence between the two of them, Phaedra continued, “Don’t worry! I didn’t expect you to, which is also why we’re having these meetings.

“I thought we could start with dresses since the dress will probably have to be taken in for alterations.” Phaedra flipped through the binder to the section filled with white and frill. “These are from the companies that have offered to provide your dress, free of charge.”

Hermione was taken aback. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest, or something?”

“It’s not all bad! Neither you nor the taxpayers have to pay for the dress and all you have to do is mention in an interview or two where it’s from. It’s fine. People do this all the time! You’re Muggleborn, right?”

“Yes…” Hermione said, unsure where this was headed.

“It’s just like actors and other celebrities at red carpet events; big designers donate their work to them. And what are you, if not the most famous witch of your age?”

Hermione wanted to argue that she was more of a public servant than a celebrity but Phaedra had begun talking again. Percy had also called her a celebrity. Why was everyone so keen on reminding her of that fact?

“These are the different types of silhouettes for wedding dresses,” she said, flipping through the pages and pointing, “ball gown, very traditional, A-line, also a classic, mermaid, hard to walk in, column, simple and understated, trumpet, not my favorite, to be honest, and tea-length. I don’t know about that last one though. Might be too _modern_ for an event like this.”

Hermione remained silent trying to retain all of the information coming at her. She did not think she was necessarily better than other women for not knowing fashion terms but she also had never made the effort to learn them. This was all so new.

“Do you have a preference?” Phaedra asked.

Hermione pretended to look thoughtful, bringing her index finger to her chin. Should she just say a random design? What should she care about how she looks for a wedding she did not care about? 

“Once again, I thought not.” Phaedra smiled widely. “Since this is supposed to be a fairy tale wedding, I was thinking ball gown. But we can try on a variety to see what you really like. Does that sound like a plan?”

Hermione nodded. She was not normally one to be so quiet, but all of this—fashion, aesthetics—was out of her wheelhouse. So even if she had cared, she still might not have had any ideas. She had not made it to the dress stage of her last wedding so it was not as if she could pull from past experiences either.

“Okay, now that that’s settled I can tell the dressmakers to be ready for us and to have some of these shapes ready for us when we go in for try-ons. That will probably happen in a week, but we’ll do them all in a row. Does that work for you?” 

Hermione nodded which earned her another dazzling smile. Merlin, didn’t this woman’s face get tired? Although Phaedra was probably thinking something along the lines of, “Another nod? Isn’t her neck tired?” What could she say though? “Yes, wonderful, I love every moment of this. Can’t wait to spend all this time and taxpayer money so that I may have a beautiful wedding during which I will marry the love of my life.”

“Alright, next on our agenda is the color theme. This is important because it’s going to inform our choice in decorations. I was thinking something to fit the season, but it might be a little, shall we say, showy for your taste, so I’m prepared for you to shoot me down.”

Phaedra steepled her hands while Hermione waited for her to continue. But after a quiet moment Hermione realized this position meant that Phaedra was also waiting for her. So she cleared her throat and said, “Oh, I’m sure whatever you have in mind, I’ll like.”

“Silver and gold,” Phaedra said, flipping excitedly to a page titled “Theme: Adventurous.” Phaedra had been right. It certainly was _adventurous_ and as she had so nicely put it, showy. “Fits the holiday vibe, but I also thought it would be a subtle nod to the secondary colors of your and Professor Snape’s respective houses. Not to mention your membership in the Golden Trio.”

Phaedra was looking at Hermione expectantly but Hermione had not been fast enough to conceal her expression of… confusion? apprehension? disgust? Whatever it had been, Phaedra had latched onto it immediately. “You hate it,” she said, crestfallen.

“Well…” Hermione said, wishing she could backpedal on nonverbal communication, “No. It’s very clever and creative.” Phaedra remained unconvinced. “I mean it. You clearly thought about this a lot.”

“I can change it… I had other ideas, but I was admittedly less excited about those—”

“No, no! I was just surprised. It’s great the way it is.” Hermione tried to smile as earnestly as possible but that probably looked even more fake than if she had just tried to smile normally. She was not entirely sure why she did not like the idea, but maybe it had something to do with her feeling like that old name was cringe-inducing. Or maybe it was the memory that she used to be part of a trio, but no longer.

“Are you sure? I can definitely come up with something else.” Hermione shook her head. “Wonderful,” Phaedra said with a clap, “because my boss and your boss did tell me to go bold, you know, for the sake of really selling it.”

 _Of course_ , Hermione thought. “Well, when you put it that way,” she began. Should she make a joke about Percy? She might have thought it a safe bet, considering everyone probably hated him, but maybe they were friends. How else had Phaedra known about her trips to St. Mungo’s?

Just then the door to Phaedra’s office opened. On instinct she Hermione turned in her chair to see who was interrupting but the perpetrator had moved too fast, shutting the door before she could catch their face.

“Don’t worry,” Phaedra said, waving her hand. “That was just my boss looking for me. He probably didn’t remember that I had a meeting right now. He never looks at my calendar.”

Hermione looked at Phaedra, who, as she had to expect, was smiling. So, why did it feel like she was lying? And why would she lie about something so trivial as who was coming into her office unannounced?

“Before you go,” Phaedra said, flipping through the binder once more, “I’m bookmarking these pages for you to go over with your fiancé. But if he’s anything like you, he won’t have much of an opinion on what he wants to wear. And I would just pick for him, but I would hate to get on Professor Snape’s bad side.”

That’s right, Hermione thought. Even if Phaedra was younger than Hermione, she still would have had Snape as a teacher. Still, she had never seemed to think less of Hermione for her decision. If anything, she seemed the most understanding of Hermione’s situation.

It was also odd that Phaedra had not wanted to talk about Hermione about her own upcoming nuptials. Then again, hadn’t Percy said that Hermione was the only employee in Kingsley’s administration who was unmarried? Why couldn’t Phaedra have been the sacrificial lamb? She probably photographed better. Unless, like Hermione had initially expected, Percy had chosen Hermione specifically so that she would suffer and possibly quit under the pressure of it.

Back in the bullpen, Hermione opened her desk drawer and slipped the binder inside. She was feeling less animosity toward the thing after her meeting with Phaedra but it was still far too large to sit on her desk and allow her to do her work. She pulled out a memo she was writing and began making edits with a red ballpoint pen.

“What’s with the sour look, Hermione?” Percy asked. “Did your meeting with Miss Chapman not go as well as you had hoped?” This time he was leaning over her desk so they were almost at eye-level. Merlin forbid, Hermione thought, that he ever look at her like an equal.

That’s just my face, Hermione wanted to say, but instead opted for, “I’m just thinking of how best to reword this sentence so that no one would know that we are actually getting a bum deal.”

“Yes…” Percy drawled, playing with a pen in her writing utensil cup. “I’m sure that’s what it’s about.” He dropped the pen back into the cup with metallic clink. “You know, you are rather fortunate, getting a free wedding. Other women will have to pay for theirs.” 

Alright, Hermione thought, but most women will probably elect to get married in simple ceremonies to save money, especially if, like her, those women were marrying for convenience and not for love. No need for sentiment when there was none. But she would not tell Percy that, especially when he seemed to be in the mood to get right under her skin.

“In fact, you know you’re doing everyone a favor, right? They need a distraction from this terrible new law and you’re providing it! Maybe it doesn’t feel like it right now, but I think you’ll be grateful you did this in the end. Maybe you’ll even come to love your greaseball of a husband.”

Okay. Clearly she was not going to get any work done. “Where are you going?” he asked when she stood up and pushed in her chair.

“To lunch,” she said, walking away from him.

“Before you go,” Hermione could hear the sneer in his voice, “make sure your makeup is alright. I would hate for a paparazzo to catch you with lipstick on your teeth.” 

What she would not give to raise a choice finger in that moment.

Hermione replayed her most recent interaction with Percy over and over until she found herself in front of Snape’s shop. She paused at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. The whole journey there she heard whispers and saw pointed fingers from the corners of her eyes. She could have covered up more or cast a glamor, but she had been too angry to care. Her anger is what had driven her to talk to Snape—he may not be the perfect person to vent her frustrations to, but at the moment, he was the only person she had.

“Hello,” she heard Todd say. “One moment please.”

The man finished what he was doing and turned to give Hermione a smile, which he quickly dropped when he recognized her. Ouch. What had she done to deserve that?

“He’s not here. Do you want to leave a message for him?” Where had his customer service voice gone?

“Will he be back soon?”

“Should be.”

“No, then I’ll just wait here,” Hermione said. “If that’s okay with you.”

“That’s fine. You can sit on the stool behind the counter while I finish what I was doing.”

Hermione did as suggested, but her anger was threatening to consume her whole, so she decided to distract herself.

“So… Todd,” Hermione said. “Did you go to Hogwarts?”

“Yep.”

“What year did you start?”

“Same as you.”

“Oh. What house?”

“Hufflepuff.”

“Did you always like potions?” Hermione asked.

“No. I did not even receive an OWL in potions.”

“So how did you start working for Professor Snape?”

“I answered an ad.”

“Then what do you do if you don’t make potions?” Hermione asked, not trying to be rude, but probably sounding like it.

“I talk to customers.”

“Do you like it?”

“Usually,” he said. Hermione thought that sounded like it was directed at her. Had she done something to offend him? Or was he just mad she did not know recognize him from school?

At that point, Hermione had given up trying to talk to Todd and returned to her angry stewing. She was quickly interrupted however by the sound of a door opening behind her. She turned around in the stool to see Snape looking at her, evidently surprised she had decided to pay a visit.

“Hi,” she said, her anger dissolving into nervousness and feeling suddenly stupid, really very stupid for even thinking of coming here.

“Hello,” his surprise fading into his normal, unreadable mien. “Why don’t we talk in here?”

“Sorry to bother you at work without an appointment,” Hermione said after Snape closed the door.

“Don’t apologize. I’m sure it must have been important if you came all the way here.”

“That’s the thing—it’s not important. Just petty complaints. So... I guess I’ll be leaving.”

“Like I said, it must be important if you’d skip your lunch to talk to me. Speaking of which, do you want something? I’ll have Todd get it for you.”

“No, I’m fine. I can pick something up at the Ministry canteen.”

Hermione was silent as she tried to think where to start. This was especially difficult when Snape was looking at her expectantly. Why was he being so understanding? She also noticed that he had not shaved that morning and was sporting five o’clock shadow.

“Percy is so terrible,” Hermione said. Yep, that’s why I came all this way, Snape, I wanted to complain about my awful boss. To her surprise, however, he nodded, as if he were encouraging her to continue.

“He’s always had it out for me, but it’s seemed worse ever since I broke up with… his brother.” Hermione felt odd bringing up her former fiancé in that moment, even though she had talked about him freely in the past. “He uses every opportunity to undermine me or make my life miserable. The coffee I spilled on you? That was for him.”

Snape laughed. Probably realizing that laughing might not be appropriate, he dropped the jovial expression. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione fought the urge to stare at him, mouth agape. It was not that he apologized but the fact that he used her first name. Had he used it in the past? She was struggling to remember. This made her feel all the more awful for still referring to him as Snape to other people, but using his given name still felt weird. He had never given her explicit instruction to do so as he had done with her parents, so maybe she was overreacting.

But, another part of her thought, he is going to be your husband.

“And lately I’ve been wondering if he’s set this all up as one final attempt to get me to quit. It’s no secret he wants to be the next minister. I think I’ve known that about him for as long as we’ve been acquainted. He thinks I’m his direct competition.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “And you? Do you want to become the minister for magic?”

“Yes, of course! Well, maybe not the _next_ one, but eventually. I mean, all that power to do something good? Who wouldn’t? And I hate to say this… but I think if I can do a good job at this,” she pointed between the two of them, “maybe I could be promoted so I won’t be under Percy anymore.”

“Alright,” Snape said, standing up. “Then I will help you in any way you see fit.”

“Really?” Hermione could hardly believe it. The way she saw it, he was already doing so much for her.

“What are fake husbands for?” he asked, a shy smile spreading across his lips.

Hermione did not know how to answer that. She did know of a precedent; she had never met a fake husband before. The two of them were treading new ground. Merlin, what a thought. Hermione let out an awkward little laugh despite herself.

“Speaking of which… Phaedra, my coworker who’s helping me—us—plan the wedding has asked me to ask you to pick out your outfit. There’s a list of options with pictures but of course I don’t have it at the moment.”

“That’s okay, we can meet again and I can pick among three identical suits.”

“I know! How do you think I feel? How many ways can you make a white dress? A lot, apparently, according to Phaedra.”

“You wouldn’t be talking about Phaedra Chapman, would you?”

“Yes, why?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, nothing, just that she’s Todd’s sister.”

Hermione was suddenly struck with the resemblance. Of course. They both had curly hair, delicately pointed faces, and those blue eyes. How could she have missed that?

* * *

It was always easy for Severus to tell when Hermione was lost in her thoughts. She would get quiet, chew her lip and let her eyes go unfocused. Was it that surprising that the Chapmans were related? Severus thought he had seen Phaedra at the accursed photoshoot and now that he had confirmation that it was her, she still looked about the same.

And now she was planning their wedding? As far as Severus could remember, she had been a capable student, but did not stick out much. Then again, almost all of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were like that. And as a Ravenclaw—creative, detail-oriented—Severus was sure that she would do fine at the task. Not that he cared.

But… should he care? Yes, he should really if that would make him a better fake fiancé. He knew what he had to do. He just had to be brave enough to act on it.

“Hermione,” he said, feeling his pulse quicken, “why don’t we have dinner later? And we can discuss what I’ll be wearing then.”

“Later?” she asked, snapping out of her thoughtful state. “Like tonight?”

“Or some other time in the week. I’ll make it.” Severus was going to mention something about her mother saying she never got to eat home-cooked meals but he knew he would never get her to agree if she thought that was his only reason.

“Oh, so at your house?”

“Well, they certainly won’t let me cook at a restaurant. I think it will be more private now that we’re being followed everywhere we go.”

“You noticed them,” Hermione said, eyes wide and her eyebrows almost disappearing into her hair. “Stupid, fucking Percy. He’s the one who tips them off,” she clarified.

Severus chuckled. “Of course. Ex-spy, remember? And before you apologize, it’s fine; I understand it’s part of the process. As long as they don’t come to my house.”

Hermione looked unsure again, worrying her lip and lost in her thoughts. “I won’t tell Percy because I can’t trust him, but I can’t guarantee he isn’t tracking my movements through other means.”

“I’ll give you an unregistered portkey. You can leave from inside your apartment. It will be fine, so long as you don’t snitch on me.” He knew there was no real danger of that. People in government always thought they were above the law.

She was giving him that wide-eyed look again but he could not exactly place the emotion they were expressing. “You’re being so incredibly kind. I…” Her voice faltered and she looked up at one of his hanging lights. “I don’t know how I’ll repay you, sir.”

He wanted to reach out and touch her, be some comfort to her. But her “sir” told him to keep his distance.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was very busy last weekend and that set me behind on my schedule and I was suffering from a bit of writer's block.

Severus Snape had been cooking his entire life and was fairly certain had never botched a meal. But beyond preparing meals for his parents or—he shuddered at the memory—for Wormtail, he had never cooked for anyone else, let alone someone he was trying to impress.

At first he had dismissed the notion that he would ever try to impress her, but eventually he had to confront the truth. He was a meticulous man by nature and owned few possessions, so his house was always neat, but he nevertheless had left work early to clean every inch of his space. Did that sound like something you would do if you weren’t trying to impress your guests, if even in a small way?

And as he cooked, he was plagued with self-doubt. What if she was a vegetarian? No, she had eaten the roast her parents had made for her. Did she like Brussels sprouts? Who doesn’t like Brussels sprouts? A lot of people, probably. Why had he even agreed to make dinner again? They could have accomplished the same goal if they had just ordered takeout. But he had wanted to—he had to admit—impress her with his cooking and show her that he could be a good husband.

He looked at the clock. She would be here any moment. He had never been one to care about his appearance, but he suddenly felt very self-conscious. He took the Brussels sprouts out of the oven and practically sprint up the stairs to double check in his upstairs bathroom—the only mirror he kept in the house—that he did not have any spinach in his teeth from lunch.

But Severus had not been able to reach his destination before he heard a knock at the door. He ran back down the hall to the top of the stairs, but upon realizing she might hear his speedy descent, he slowed his stride so as to not appear so eager. He wanted to impress her, but he did not want to scare her.

When Severus reached for the knob, he realized he still had the oven mitt on, which he stashed hastily under his arm. He hesitated a moment longer to take in a calming lungful of air, before giving Hermione her first glimpse into his home. 

“Hello,” Hermione said, on the other side of the threshold. Her wild hair was sticking out from under her magenta hat, which matched her cheeks, pink from the cold. In her mittened hand was the unregistered portkey, a spade. Severus looked at her, hardly believing she was there, at his home.

Then Severus remembered his manners. “Hello,” he said, taking his spade back. “Come in.” Gesturing inside with spade in had, the new position of his arm caused his oven mitt to fall to the ground, which he hastily bent over to snatch up. When he returned to an upright position he saw that Hermione was looking at him. The half-smile on her face hopefully indicated amusement.

As she entered, Severus kept his eyes on her, looking for any indication of how she felt about his living quarters. This was like a job interview and he hoped she would not judge him too harshly for his sparsely decorated space. He did not sense any judgment and if anything, she just looked tired. Under his hallway light he could see that clearly.

“Let me take your coat,” he offered, remembering one of their earlier interactions. Severus did not often have guests so some of the nuances of being a successful host were unknown to him. Like a ritual, Hermione stuffed her hat and mittens into her coat pockets and unwound her scarf. Severus noticed that they all matched.

She must have caught his starting, because Hermione said, “I’m not really a pink person, but my mum knitted them for me. So that’s why I wear them. And… I mean, it’s certainly better than I can do.”

Shit, he thought, when she handed the bundle to him, what was he going to do with these? Since he was single, he had filled his downstairs closet—the one they were currently standing beside—with potion ingredients. And his only clothes-closet was his personal one, upstairs. “Oh, you can knit?” Severus asked, stalling for time.

“Yes,” he heard her say. “Though I haven’t had much time for it lately.” Should he just throw her stuff on top of his ingredients? “When I would knit hats for the house elves, they always came out lumpy and uneven.”

He stood there, coat and accessories still in hand, having a full-blown panic attack about what to do with her stuff. How hard could this actually be? Merlin, what kind of spy was he if he couldn’t think on his feet? And what had she just said? He needed to respond. “And was this through magical means or with your own two hands?” Excellent save, Severus, he thought.

Magical, yes, he was magical. He threw a quick glance at Hermione and noticed that she appeared to be lost in thought. Luckily for him the door opened towards her so she could not see what he was doing inside. He transfigured a broom into a closet rod and a unicorn hair into a hanger, on which he hung her coat and scarf. Then he disillusioned the other ingredient bottles. It might look odd that he only had one hanger, but maybe when he opened it again to give everything back to her, she would be in a similar spot, unable to see inside.

“Sorry,” she said, when he closed the door. What had he missed while trying to wandlessly and wordlessly do all that? “It’s embarrassing, really.”

“What is?” he asked, fully confused about what she was saying.

“It’s just… your question reminded me that Molly—Mrs. Weasley—was the one who tried to teach me how to knit magically. And my mum was so jealous.” Hermione looked wistful as she seemed to relive the memory. “But I don’t know what she was more jealous of: Mrs. Weasley teaching her daughter something she herself loved or the fact that I could do it without suffering a repetitive stress injury, as she so often does.

“I think that’s why she made me the scarf, and the hat, and finally the mittens. She wanted to say ‘don’t forget about me!’ And I think that’s why she made them that color. That was always the color of my Weasley sweater—Mrs. Weasley knitted everyone a sweater with their initial on it every year for Christmas. Well, I only got one after mine after I started dating,” she cleared her throat, “Ron. And, anyway, my mum knew I couldn’t wear both, so it was kind of her way of making me choose between her and Mrs. Weasley. 

“I suppose that battle was a proxy for her feeling of alienation from me when I got my Hogwarts letter. That there would always be a part of me that I couldn’t share with her. But I should’ve known I always would have disappointed her—she wanted me to be a dentist and continue their practice. But there are no magical dentists, are there? You should’ve seen her face when I told her that… almost as disappointed as when I explained to her that I had erased her and my dad’s memories and exiled them to Australia.”

Erasing their memories? Severus made a mental note to ask about that later, when Hermione was not so clearly hurting; he could tell because she was no longer looking at him, but staring at his hallway light. He had had no idea that such an innocent-seeming question could provoke such a heartfelt, self-aware answer. Severus was certainly pleased that she felt comfortable to share these details with him, but it also felt like he was revelling in her pain.

He could have guessed some of this already—even based on his limited experience, Severus could tell she shared a strained relationship with her mother, but the details were nevertheless surprising. Lily, the only other muggleborn he had ever been close with, had had a wonderful relationship with her parents. They could not have been prouder to have a child attend Hogwarts. But, then again, he only had to look at his own father to see how non-magical parents could treat a magical child. Though he prayed her childhood was infinitely better than his.

“I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you.” Her brown eyes were wet. 

His heart sank. “No. No, you don’t have to apologize, Hermione.” Then his stomach clenched. He was not supposed to use her first name, because she had yet to do the same for him. And the look on her face told him that she was uncomfortable with its usage. This would be a hard habit to break since he exclusively referred to her as such in his head. “Sorry—”

“If we spend the night apologizing,” she said, cutting him off, “we’ll never get anything done. And I’m guessing the food will get cold.”

“Yes. Of course.” Severus had nearly forgotten. “I hope you like Brussels sprouts.”

“Who doesn’t like Brussels sprouts?” Hermione asked following him into the dining room.

Severus previously only owned one dining table chair so he had had to buy another and transfigure it to resemble the old one, which he pulled out for Hermione to sit down. Was that the right move? Was that too chauvinistic? Or was it more sexist to think that simply pulling out a chair for a woman was chauvinistic?

Whatever Hermione thought of his action, she smiled, but she was also probably too polite to tell him how she felt. He popped into the adjoining kitchen and set the dishes onto the table. Then he grabbed a bottle from the refrigerator.

“Wine?” he offered. He had no idea what she liked so he had just bought a bottle of pinot grigio. Even when he was still drinking, he had never been much of a wine guy.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. She swirled the wine in her glass before taking a sip. “That’s good.”

“Is it? Or are you just saying that?” Severus joked. “I’d have no way of knowing.”

Hermione’s hand went straight to her forehead with a loud smack. It sounded hard. Severus winced. “I can’t believe I forgot. You don’t drink. Did you only buy this for my sake?” Severus nodded. “You didn’t have to… but thank you. Although I don’t know how much longer I’ll be an entertaining guest for. Wine knocks me right out.”

Severus just smiled before becoming self-conscious of his teeth and quickly closing his lips. “Shall we eat, then?”

He watched Hermione serve herself little—at least compared to what he was used to—portions. She took a couple of bites and she was complimentary, but that did not necessarily mean anything; she was probably just being polite. And besides the occasional comment on the quality of his cooking, they did not talk much—a stark contrast to the emotional outpouring he had received earlier. 

But should not have been reliant on her for conversation anyway; he should also be bringing something to the table, so to speak. What was there to talk about though besides the weather? It was rather bleak if that’s what they had to resort to. He supposed they could always talk about politics, since that was her forte. But that also sounded like a bad idea since her job had been stressing her out more than usual lately and politics was why they were in this situation in the first place.

Soon he poured her another glass of wine, which she was only drinking because she knew he himself would not drink it. And he certainly felt foolish for buying it, but based on his limited knowledge of dinner parties, he assumed wine was a necessity. But who was he kidding? What kind of party was this?

* * *

Hermione should not have accepted his offer of wine. Not only because she felt bad that he had gone out of his way to buy it for her, but also because she was more tired than usual from work. But she had reasoned that she deserved to feel a little less anxious, especially since spending time with Snape always heightened that feeling.

She looked at the man sitting across from her. He was wearing a white button-up shirt, like usual. She also noticed he appeared freshly shaven, which at this point was a private joke she shared only with herself. Probably to make herself feel calmer, she reasoned. But why did she feel anxious anyway? 

And maybe it was because she was so tired, or maybe it was because she felt like she had overshared enough already, but her ability to make conversation seemed to be failing. And Snape seemed to be suffering the same problem.

Hermione could not tell if this was a good or bad sign. This was not the first time this had happened either. They must really be a bad match if they already had run out of stuff to talk about, but maybe that meant they would also never get on each other’s nerves by talking too much. But if it was bad, she had better hope for a speedy ascension to the minister’s office. Merlin, she did not know what would happen if they were both stuck together for too long.

She could not afford to dwell on that, especially since Snape probably thought she was nuts for staring silently at her dinner. “Sorry, I am not more talkative,” she offered, hoping that would make him think she was not intentionally being rude. “With everything going on, I have a lot of my mind. So, forgive me for not being more present.”

* * *

Severus nodded to Hermione’s words. He understood that feeling all too well. Although he would not fault her for not wanting to talk to him, Severus had appreciated her explanation. He might have guessed however from the way she looked unfocused at her plate, but he had initially attributed that to tiredness rather than thoughtfulness. That left one question: would it be better to sit in silence or ought Severus try to propel the conversation forward?

Perhaps he could offer anecdotes from his own job but surely that would be of no interest to her—or anyone else, for that matter. And yet there was nothing else in his life he could talk about. Well, there was his garden but he would prefer to give her a tour first. Or would that bore her as well?

Alright he would do it. With some difficulty, but he would try. “Well… as you know, I’ve begun to receive a greater volume of foot traffic.” Hermione nodded. He hated to remind Hermione of his financial stake in this whole mess but he could think of another way to start his story. “And I have been strictly enforcing the buy something and/or get out policy.

“So people will typically grab the cheapest thing they can find, since—well, you get it—so they grab the wart cream, right? And I’m constantly running out and struggling to keep up with the demand. Now I’m trying to decide if I should just have them buy out the next cheapest item or continue to make wart cream. Because, on the one hand, if someone really does need it, it should be right there for them. But on the other hand, it is really easy to make, mind-numbingly so.”

Hermione nodded politely again. He knew she was tired but maybe his story was only exacerbating that. His post-war life really had become so boring, hadn’t it? Still, he felt obligated to continue.

“Then I had an idea. It’s so easy that I bet even Todd could brew it for me. Oh, sorry, please don’t think I so little of my employee. He himself has no delusions about his potion-making ability.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, perking up somewhat. “He told me.”

“He did?”

“Yes, when I was waiting for you.” Hermione’s face colored and she resumed her staring at her plate. If that was a look of embarrassment, Severus had no idea why she should feel that way. As her future husband, he would expect himself to always be available for venting, though perhaps she did not know that. But how to show her that? Certainly his antics earlier with the closet and his half-listening were not good examples of that.

“Sorry I never asked. But Todd was accommodating, I trust?” Severus had never explicitly talked to his employee about his fiancée but he hoped he would know to help Hermione out in his absence.

“Uh… I don’t know how to put this without sounding like a snitch, but I don’t get the sense he likes me.” Severus frowned. “Don’t get me wrong. He did everything he should’ve. I just got the feeling that he did not particularly enjoy it.”

Weird, Severus thought. How unlike Todd. “I can hardly imagine why he would dislike you when—” Severus was about to say, “when you are responsible for increasing his salary,” but he did not need Hermione to know that someone else was financially dependent on their fake marriage. “He’s so… typically… Hufflepuff.”

Hermione snorted at Severus’s improvised answer. “Did I say something funny?” he asked.

“Don’t tell me you actually believe that stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Like... house stereotypes. You think all Hufflepuffs are nice? Next you’ll be telling me all Slytherins are evil.” She smirked at her comment. A very Slytherin smirk, he might add. “Justin Finch-Fletchley,” she took a sip of wine, “for example.”

Severus did not disagree with what she was saying. He himself had been on the receiving end of hurled abuses from Hufflepuff during his school days. Any rotten person could come from any house.

“What about him?” Severus asked, hoping this topic would gain momentum. He did not know what about it had woken something up in her but he selfishly found himself wanting to hear more from her.

“He was as stuck up as Malfoy. Sorry…” Severus waved his hand to show he was not offended and that he wished for her to continue. “And he thought Harry was the heir of Slytherin and… how thick can you be? I wouldn’t have been friends with him if he was trying to murder me. And then he was rude in fourth year because he thought Harry was trying to steal… their champion’s glory.”

Severus did not remember much of this Finch-Fletchley, except that he had been one of the muggleborns that he had unpetrified the year of the “basilisk incident.” Then again, Hermione had also been one of the unlucky souls lying in the Hospital Wing until he could brew the reviving potion. He had always known she had suffered immense trauma during her school years but the petrification and her inability to say Diggory’s name brought it to the forefront of his mind.

“But I guess he turned out alright in the end because he joined the D.A. the next year.”

Severus nodded to show that he was still listening to everything she was saying, but when she returned to her thoughtful silence, he said “Still, if Todd was rude, I can talk to him.”

“No, not every person I meet has to like me. I’ve long since accepted that about myself,” she said with a weak smile.

“I must admit, that does not sound like something a politician would say.”

“Fine. Let me amend my previous statement. Not every person I meet has to like me, just a majority.”

After dinner they moved into Severus’s little living room. He was thankful in that moment that he had splurged on a little loveseat, which he had bought to face the window, and a wingback chair, which was meant to be sat by the fire. He would hate to be in a situation where he only had one chair or had to share the loveseat with Hermione, who did not seem at all comfortable around him yet. And even if she never was, that would be okay.

When he offered her herbal tea, she obliged. So he left her there, seated on the loveseat, while he went into the kitchen to start the brewing process. Unfortunately, however, he did not see any in his cupboards, but hopefully there would be some in his ingredients closet. He knew it was improper lab safety to keep potion ingredients near food, but there had been a sale on tea at the supermarket awhile back and he simply did not the necessary space in his kitchen to store all of the tea he had bought in bulk.

He hoped that Hermione was not too bored waiting for him—but based on his performance earlier, she might be bored regardless—and routed around the closet for a tin of herbal tea. Once he was successful, he cast the disillusionment charm again and closed the closet door as quietly as possible. Hermione did not need to think he kept tea in his “coat closet.”

He set the kettle on the stove to boil, then he returned to the living room. He opened his mouth to apologize for his absence. But he was greeted with the sight of Hermione sleeping on his loveseat. Her head was on the armrest and her legs were curled up. He figured that she probably had started out slouching until she was fully horizontal, at which point she was a goner. And of course, his wine had not helped her.

The kettle whistled from the other room yet still she did not wake. She continued to sleep, still in the same position and snoring softly. Should he wake her up? He supposed he could continue about his nightly routine—noisily—on the off chance she would wake up on her own.

So, he did. He washed the dishes by hand since he knew it would be slower and it afforded him more opportunities to clank plates together. But even when he finished and had not heard a peep from Hermione, he lumbered up the stairs and walked into his bedroom, which was just above the living room. He did not undress for bed but he did brush his teeth and wash his face and stomp around his room once more for good measure.

To his dismay, Hermione was still fast asleep after he clambered down the stairs. Damn. He had really hoped his plan would work. If he left her there, would she wake up with a crook in her neck if she slept all night like that? He supposed he could give her a pillow and if that woke her up, it was not like he had not tried to be a good host and friend.

Summoning a pillow, he slipped it under her head using magic—there was no way he was going to touch her—but she did not stir then either. Should he just get it over with and shake her awake? But she was sleeping so peacefully there and he had seen how tired she was when she had arrived. Could he deny her a night’s rest?

He had made up his mind; he would let her sleep as long as she needed to. He draped a blanket over her body for good measure. Turning off the lights in the room he left to go upstairs and sleep himself. Though he doubted he would get much sleep, as he debated whether or not he had done the right thing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for posting this a day late. I started a new book series yesterday on a whim and i had to finish the whole thing before I went to bed which left me no time to work on this. Whoops.

Soft light coaxed Hermione into conscientiousness. As she slowly became more aware, she could not help but notice how good she felt. But before her eyes were fully opened, she sat bolt upright. It was far too late in the year for her to be awoken by the sun. Her racing heart pumped adrenaline through her veins. She had to get to work.

Then her mind caught up to her accelerated pulse. She had fallen asleep a couch, but this was not _her_ couch. Memories from the night before came rushing back. This was Snape’s house which meant she had passed out on Snape’s couch. Merlin, what must he think of her?

She folded the blanket that had fallen onto the floor when she had bolted awake and draped it over the loveseat. She walked out of the living room, expecting to see him glowering at her from the kitchen over a steaming cup of coffee, but there was no sight of him. She had to get to work. Would it be rude to leave without saying goodbye? Although, at that point, it may have been too late for her to worry about being rude. She figured he was probably annoyed with her enough already; he probably did not care if she followed social protocol. 

As she left, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her coat, putting on her mittens, and covering up her sleep-mussed hair with her hat, one thought crossed her mind: had she fallen asleep with the pillow and blanket? But she could not dwell on that for too long. She _had_ to get to work!

With no one else in sight, Hermione grabbed a new blouse, slacks, and toiletry bag from her magically-extended-desk-drawer wardrobe and went to the bathroom to change. She rolled on a new layer of deodorant and brushed and flossed. Then she tried to charm her hair but was somehow making it look worse. In the end, she decided to put it up in a messy bun. On other women it might have looked stylishly wind-tossed, but on her, it just looked messy. She sighed and left the bathroom. Hermione had made peace with her hair long ago.

Percy was sitting on her desk when she returned. She rolled her shoulders back and strode over to face him, trying to exude more confidence than she felt. She did not take a seat but rather stayed standing, so that they were eye-to-eye. Percy straightened from his slouch so that he gained one inch on her.

“Can I help you, Mr. Weasley?” she asked sweetly.

“You’re lucky no one saw you.”

Hermione did not say anything at first. If he knew then she had to handle this tactfully. “Saw me do what, exactly?” she asked after she could no longer stand his haughty stare.

“You came into work late, wearing the same clothes, your hair a mess.”

Yes, Percy was going where she had feared. But that did not mean she could lead him in a different direction. “I didn’t know you were the fashion police.”

“You slept over at his house, didn’t you? You know you’re supposed to be promoting marriage, not being a floozy.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione asked. “What did you just call me? Are you joking? Surely, you must be joking. We are _at work_.”

“And this is _about work_. You know, you are so lucky you have permission to apparate in here and you are even luckier that’s it’s a Sunday. You could’ve been seen! Not to mention you are very lucky Snape’s address hasn’t been made public yet. We could have had a veritable scandal on our hands!”

“More of a scandal than if people realized we’re being forced by the Ministry to get married? You do remember that this all a ploy, right? That I don’t actually like him? So, Percy, I would prefer not to be lectured about my virtue when you know damn well I did nothing wrong.”

“And you know damn well that it’s all about perception rather than truth. How would it have looked for you to be photographed walking around like that outside of his home?”

“The photographers only know where to go because _you_ tell them! If you don’t want a scandal, _you_ don’t have to send them to his house, which, by the way, I heard you use the word ‘yet’ to describe the publicity of Snape’s home. I hope, for your sake, that it remains a secret.”

“What is it to you?”

“We had a deal. We promised him as much.”

“And we had a deal for you to act out our idea of how an engagement and marriage should be.”

“And what would you do if I didn’t uphold my end of the deal to your high standard? Who would you force to get married then?”

“I do not care for your insolent tone.”

“I do not care for being called a floozy by my boss but here I am.”

Percy narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Don’t you?”

Percy stalked away, his head held high. Hermione finally sat down in her chair, her hands shaking, but also feeling an immense relief. He would not fire her, could not after all she was doing for them. Why had she not realized that earlier? Maybe she would even leave early today. The possibilities were endless.

“You’re welcome for the coffee, by the way.”

* * *

Severus had heard her leave. He had heard her tiptoeing around the kitchen and the door front shut behind her. He apparently had woken up before her but remained in bed, debating over whether or not he should go to the kitchen, make some noise and maybe some coffee for her. She probably was very cross with him for letting her sleep in, but he also did not want to risk waking her up too early.

The fact that she had just left without a word or note was proof enough that he had done the right thing by not crowding her. The last thing she probably would have wanted was him acting like they had just had a friendly sleepover. She might have felt obligated to stay and drink his coffee like she had felt about the wine. Yes, the way it had ultimately played out was for the best.

Severus got up, showered, and walked downstairs, in his slippers and his bathrobe, his hair still dripping. He ground some beans and turned on the coffee maker. Mug in hand, he beat some eggs with some salt and pepper and made himself breakfast. After he finished up, Severus went into the living room to try to get some reading done.

The first thing he noticed was the binder Hermione must have forgotten on his coffee table. He leaned over and pulled it onto his lap. It was heavier than it looked, chock full of collaged pages of pictures taken from magazines and advertisements. He began flipping in earnest. Hermione had told him the suits Miss Chapman had picked out for him were somewhere among them.

When he finally reached what he assumed was the correct page, he noticed every suit was predominantly black, which Severus supposed was appropriate for him, but to his surprise they all had some sort of gold accents. Gold cufflinks, gold pocket squares, gold cravats, gold piping on tuxedo pants, gold bow tie, gold lapels, gold cummerbund and one outfit even featured a gold waistcoat. This could not be the right page; he must have been mistaken. Severus kept flipping. He did not see any other menswear until he landed on a page of much more muted suits.

Finally in the right section, he studied them, trying to find his favorite, when he looked at the top of the page. “Groomsmen,” it read. Severus felt dizzy all of a sudden. Would he be assigned groomsmen? He did not have any male friends really—beyond Todd, of course. But nothing would look more pathetic than Severus standing there with just his employee. Did Hermione have any friends he could borrow? This would have to be a topic for a later day.

Speaking of Hermione, he should probably return her binder to her. She needed it back, most likely as soon as possible. And instead of waiting for her owl to request it back, he could be proactive and drop it off for her at work, where she almost certainly was. It was not like he had anything else planned for the day. 

He did his dishes and went upstairs to get dressed. Severus put on his second best shirt and pants—he had worn his best yesterday—and struggled into his best shoes, even though they pinched his toes. Luckily he had already shaved that morning. The whole time he was also thinking about who could ask to be a groomsmen. What about Filius? They had been amicable throughout his entire tenure at Hogwarts. He made a mental note to send him a letter of inquiry sometime in the future.

Severus appeared outside the guest entrance to the ministry. He had certainly been to the ministry more often than he would like as of late, but it was worth it to help Hermione. Still, being there made him a little nervous. Or was it something else that made him uneasy? 

Once he gained admittance, Severus looked at the directory in the library. Minister’s Office—First Floor. Usually he would’ve remembered the way but he had been so nervous that day and Hermione had been leading him so it was a little fuzzy. 

He was about to head in that direction when he noticed that just below Minister’s Office, the Auror Office was listed. Second floor. Wasn’t Potter the head of the auror office? That gave Severus a thought. He and Potter had a somewhat uneasy relationship but when he had seen him last at the Order of Merlin ceremony, he was not _un_ friendly to Severus. But most importantly, he was one of Hermione’s greatest friends. Why should he not be among his groomsmen?

It was Sunday so Severus was not sure if the man was in, but if he asked Potter before he saw Hermione perhaps he could tell her the good news and show his initiative. Hermione would also probably be happy to hear her friend would in the wedding party. But if Potter was not here, then no harm done.

“Severus Snape, here to see Mr. Potter,” Severus said to the receptionist of the auror office.

“And for what purpose?” she asked through an artificial smile. Severus was sure she knew who he was and to whom he was engaged. Everyone seemed to know these days.

“I have an appointment with him,” he lied, wishing he was less conspicuous. He would have worn a glamour if he did not know already that the offices were protected from any and all appearance-altering charms.

“I don’t see your name on his calendar,” she said, still smiling.

Severus was debating the least awkward way to excuse himself when he saw Potter enter the waiting area. He looked like he was going somewhere in a hurry but Severus called out “Potter!” to him. Potter’s face changed from surprise to recognition to resignation.

“It’s fine, Talia. He’s with me.”

Potter led Severus past a row offices to a door in the back, on which his name was engraved on a plaque. With a flick of his wrist, Severus heard Potter unlock the door and then ushered him inside. Severus had expected the office to be big but he was not expecting such opulence. Walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, mahogany furniture, and a fireplace, which Potter lit before sitting in the leather chair behind the too-large desk.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Though I have a feeling I already have a guess,” Potter said, sitting at his desk, without offering Severus his own chair. If Severus was not mistaken, Potter found this social call certainly less than pleasurable.

Severus cleared his throat and shifted his weight unevenly between his feet. “This is about Hermione—”

“How did I know?” Potter interrupted.

“Astute as ever, Potter,” Severus responded coolly.

“Did she send you here to beg for my forgiveness?” Potter asked, a little too smugly for Severus’s taste, especially when he had no idea what Potter was talking about. 

“No, I came here on my accord,” Severus asked, pausing to think of how to best continue. If Potter was not in a good mood, was now the best now to ask him? But if he did not ask him now, then when? And once again he would be scrounging for a graceful exit.

“Well, are you going to get it over with?” Potter said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Get what over with?”

“The apology.” Severus gave him a blank look. “I disinvited her from my wedding,” Potter explained plainly. But still, he was not looking at Severus. 

“What? Why?” Severus asked, trying to maintain an even tone.

“She disappears off the face of the earth and the next time I hear about her, months later, she’s getting married to you, of all people. But did I hear it from her? No, I had to hear about it from my mother-in-law who read it in a tabloid.”

That explained why she had come to Severus when she had been frustrated with Percy. She had had no one else to turn to. How long had this been going on? Severus had a feeling he knew.

“I don’t know why she did not tell you herself, but perhaps she was not at liberty to tell you,” Severus replied. She probably had stopped talking to Potter around the same time she had stopped talking to Weasley.

Potter snorted. “I am also a high-ranking member of this government. I’m sure I have the required clearance.”

“Then she probably was busy with work.” Severus had always had the feeling Potter and Weasley were closer to each other than either was to Hermione. Perhaps she did not want to make Potter choose sides.

“I don’t doubt it! That’s all she does, isn’t it? Her work is her entire life. You know, you’re lucky you don’t actually love her. Because she has put that job before everyone who loves her— me, Ginny, her friends, her parents, not to mention Ron. And she’s going to put it before you.”

“How unfortunate,” Severus said as flatly as he could manage. This was not news to him. “So, you know then?” 

“Know that your engagement is fake? Of course I do. I’ve always known. Hermione is—was—one of my best friends. She would never want something so private publicized. And,” Potter said, gesturing at Severus, “you’re definitely not her type.” Even knowing that he had never been anyone’s type, that stung Severus more than it ought to.

“So if you’ve always known, what was your need to hear it from her? This whole situation is punishment enough as it is. Why punish her further?”

He seemed to soften at Severus’s words. “I was mad, okay?” Potter pushed his hand through his already tousled hair. “I can admit I reacted rashly. But can you blame me? I was so tired of her pulling this shit with me. It’s like she has tunnel vision. All she cares about her job and the shred of power it gives her. I just wished she cared about something else for once.”

The two shared a moment of silence. Severus did not know how to respond. He wished he could tell Potter that he was wrong. He wanted to do well by Hermione after all she had done for him but he could admit that she was particularly… single-minded. Hermione was willing to get married to him in order to get ahead in her job, which showed a level of dedication Severus did not think he could ever match and he had _killed_ for his boss.

“So, why did you come all the way here?” Potter said at last. “If not to beg for my forgiveness, then what?”

Severus wondered if it would be easier to lie or to just tell Potter the awkward truth. “If I had been aware of the… situation between you and Hermione, I would have never even dreamed of asking you this.” Severus paused. “I was going to ask you to be a groomsman,” he said, managing not to wince. “But now that I do know, I would not—”

“I’ll do it. But I’m not doing it for her, I’m doing it for you. This was clearly your idea and I still never properly thanked you for all those times you saved my ass, so I’ll do it.”

Severus worked to hide his shock. “Alright, Potter, then will you do one more thing for me? And consider us even?”

“And what is that?” Potter said, probably fully aware of what Severus was about to ask.

“Will you reinvite Hermione to your wedding?”

“Deal.” Potter said, getting up from his desk and offering a hand, which Severus shook. “But only if you come. And mostly because I hadn’t mustered up the courage told Ginny yet.” 

“Give Hermione time; she’ll come around.”

Potter gave him a sidelong glance. “And how can _you_ be so sure?”

“I can’t. But I have my suspicions.”

“You just know?” Potter asked with a smirk. Severus did not know what was so funny but this was clearly a joke he did not understand.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone now.” Severus turned to leave before spinning on his heel. “And, Potter? Not a word of our deal will get to Hermione. Do you understand?”

“Keeping secrets already, sir? That’s an auspicious way to start a relationship,” Potter replied. Severus was unsure if he was joking or not.

“It’s just as you said. We’re not in love; we’re barely friends.” The truth hit him square in the chest. They weren’t friends. But how much it hurt to realize that he wished they were.

* * *

“Happy Sunday, Hermione,” Phaedra said, the afternoon light streaming from her window bathing her office in a warm glow. Or the glow was emanating from the woman in front of her. Hard to tell. Probably had something to do with the ring now glinting in the sunlight on Phaedra’s left hand.

“Hello,” Hermione began, “unfortunately I don’t have the binder.” She had realized on her trip over that she did not have the blasted thing, but when she turned around to get it, she remembered that she had left it on Snape’s coffee table. “I left it at Snape’s house when I went over to help him pick out his suit.”

“That’s fine. We were only going to talk about place settings today and we don’t really need pictures to do that anyway. And asking for your input is more of a formality at this point anyway, right?” Phaedra gave her a knowing smile. “So, which did he like the best? Or did he like none of them and wants something completely different?”

“Er… well, the thing is…” Hermione did not know how she could make up a reason to say that she had gone to Snape’s place with the explicit purpose of doing something and then not done that one thing. “We did not get a chance to talk about it.”

Phaedra raised an eyebrow. “That’s good though, right? I mean, forgive me if this is overstepping, but I did not exactly get the sense you were friends when I saw you interacting at the shoot.” Phaedra stopped talking to look at Hermione, probably gauging her reaction. “But are you getting along better now? If you spent the whole night talking?”

“Er, right. Well… No. Not exactly. I sort of… fell asleep on his couch after dinner.”

“Ooh,” Phaedra cooed. “Did he make you dinner?”

“Yes, but it’s not like that.”

“Still! My boyfriend—well, fiance now—can’t even cook pasta. You’re lucky.”

Yes, well, except for the part where you mentioned that Snape and I weren’t close at all. “That sounds like me. Well, I can make pasta. But that’s about it.”

“As long as one of you can cook, I think it’s a good partnership.”

Yes, neither she nor Ron could cook. And once she had introduced him to Chinese takeout, it had been all he wanted to eat anyway. “The difference is you and your fiancé are friends, I’m assuming?”

Phaedra blushed prettily. “Yes, I would like to think so. But enough about me, let’s talk about napkins!” Hermione could not help but laugh. “I think I have some of the concept art I sketched before I had someone in the art department draw up a final design.” She stood up from her chair and rifled through one of the filing cabinets behind her desk. “Here it is!”

She laid the sketch in front of her Hermione. Her pencil drawing was monochromatic but there were arrows pointing to different parts labeled with colors. As expected, there were lots of mentions of gold and silver. However, what caught her attention most was the napkin holder with an interlocking G and S motif. The G was labeled gold, the S, silver.

“Was this your design?” Hermione asked, pointing to the napkin holder. “You’re quite the artist yourself.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. I’m sure anyone else could’ve done just as well.” Phaedra blushed deeper than before. Hermione certainly wouldn’t have. Hermione could not draw to save her life. “Do you like it?”

“Yes, it’s very clever. The letters are for Gryffindor and Slytherin, right?”

Phaedra knit her eyebrows together. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“No… Isn’t that what you said earlier? That the colors were for the houses?”

“I did, yes. But Hermione those are your initials.”

“Of course. How foolish of me. Granger and… Snape.”

Phaedra laughed. “Did you forget that’s part of getting married? Taking his name?”

Hermione blanched. She knew she had to pretend to be in love and get married but is that not where it ended? “Do you think I’ll have to change my name?” Besides not being keen on the name, Hermione would have to go through the hassle of changing her muggle passport and credit cards.

Phaedra bit her lip. “I had assumed so. Is that a problem?”

“Kind of?” Hermione liked her name. It had a nice ring to it. Plus she had had it all of her life. It was _hers_. Why should she change it for some archaic rule? “Isn’t the propaganda campaign done immediately after the wedding? So, who cares what happens after that?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger… but I heard Percy talking with my boss that it may continue after that. Like picking out your first home together and other newlywed stuff.”

Hermione wanted to yell, “Are you kidding me!? When will this end?” But she kept her composure and her mouth shut.

“You could maybe do a hyphenated name if that makes you feel better?” Hermione bit back a laugh. She could not help but think of Justin Finch-Fletchley. She could just imagine a nonexistent Granger-Snape spawn bragging about getting accepted to Eton.

When Hermione did not respond, Phaedra said, “We can talk about something happier. Like your hen party, for example.”

Hermione was forcibly reminded of the last time she had this conversation with Ginny, her would-be maid-of-honor. “It’ll be me, you, Luna, and mum will probably make us invite Phlegm. But Angelina will come too. She’s cool. We could do something fun, like go abroad!”

But that had been then and this was now. She had not spoken to any of them since she had broken up with Ron. Well, not that Fleur or Angelina Johnson—well, Weasley now (she had skipped that wedding after the split)—had really been her friends in the first place. And since her fight with Harry, she did not know if Ginny would even want to talk to her again. That left Luna, but she probably hated Hermione now too. Hermione truly had left all of her friendships to wither.

Hermione shook her head, trying to hold back tears. What was wrong with her? Why was she so weepy all the time these days? “Is that really the best course of action? Do we really need the media publishing photos of me committing acts of debauchery? Is that the message we want to send? Maybe your boss should talk to Percy again.”

Phaedra opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal, but Hermione looked at her watch and feigned surprise. “Wow, is it that late already? I have to get going to my next meeting. Thank you for your time. This was a really good talk.”

She left, feeling more alone than ever.

* * *

Severus was leaving Potter’s office and stopping into the waiting room to see the receptionist at her desk, ignoring him once more. But now there was another person slouching one of the chairs lining the wall, fiddling with a pen. He did not look at Severus when he entered the room but recognition hit Severus like a bucket of cold water and he shivered despite himself. Ron Weasley.

He flexed his fingers. What would a good husband do? Challenge him to a duel? He was dressed in auror robes so Severus would likely get in a lot of trouble for attacking him unprovoked and it would be hard to be a good husband from Azkaban. But to be fair, that might be just the kind of husband Hermione needed.

And then, as if he sensed Severus staring at him, Weasley looked up from his pen and made eye contact with Severus. He watched Weasley’s face shift from indifference to wide-eyed recognition.

The two maintained eye contact, neither daring to say anything or make a move. Severus, deciding it was better for everybody if he acted like he had not seen Weasley, blinked and walked from the auror office into the hall without another word.

He headed for the first floor, to Hermione, when he passed another familiar face—Phaedra Chapman. He held up his hand by way of a greeting and continued on his way, but quickly spun on his heel when he realized he should probably thank her for her help. But when he looked for her down the hall, she was gone.

Hermione was also missing from her desk when he reached her office, so Severus just left the binder on her desk, all while Percy sneered at him without a word from across the room. He supposed that meant Percy was not going to tell him where Hermione was. This was the second Weasley Severus had seen today and he had had to resist the urge to hex both of them. He decided in this situation it was also better to leave as quickly as possible.

But perhaps it was for the best he had not crossed paths with Hermione. He still did not know how to broach with her what he had just discussed with Potter. Maybe he would wait until it was absolutely necessary or when the two had smoothed things over, whichever came first.

Nevertheless, he still had a niggling sensation in the back of his mind felt a little bit like disappointment.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all your nice comments! I have to admit, trying to live up to your kind praise does cause me some anxiety, but I will try to not let it get the better of me.

Hermione had been dreading this meeting as soon as she had added it to her calendar. Each attendee was supposed to come prepared with a list of photographable date activities and of course, she had come up with nothing. What else was there to do on a date besides go out to dinner? Should that not be the end of the list? Those were only the kinds of dates she had been on—well, that and trips to the cinema. She had no idea if that would be considered “photographable,” but it was not as if she and Snape could _not_ be photographed entering and exiting a theater.

She had to wonder: did Snape like going to the movies? Had he ever been? He was a half-blood; he might’ve seen some as a child. But he was so serious now. Hermione doubted he would like anything playing now. Maybe she should not suggest going to see a film if it meant she had to force him to sit through two hours of frivolity.

Percy would be running the meeting, which is why he now stood in front of the blank chalk that sat at the end of the conference room table. Hermione had tried to sit on the opposite end of the table, as far away from the action as possible, but Percy had stared at her until she moved closer. Now she sat directly beside the chalkboard as if on display for the rest of the room.

“Alright,” Percy said at two after, “I think I’ve given us all plenty of time to assemble. And if Paul thinks he doesn’t have to be here, I guess I will have a word with his manager.” But just at that moment, Paul came jostling in and found an empty seat. “Paul, so glad you could join us,” Percy simpered.

Hermione took another look at Paul. She had no idea why he had to be at this meeting considering his job lay far outside the scope of this task, but sure, what was one more person to witness her embarrassment. It was not as if her whole life were not on display for all of Wizarding Britain.

“Now, as I was saying,” Percy said, flicking his wand behind him. Several photographs from a folder before him now arranged themselves in tidy lines on the blackboard. “I was given these by my media contacts as examples of what they want. Can anyone tell me why that is, what these images have in common?”

Hermione bit her lip as she stared at the pictures before her. She did not want to look at them—she hated how she looked in photographs. But she also did not want to be singled out like Paul had been. And since Percy was directly her boss, she knew he would not hesitate to ream into her in front of everyone.

She looked at the photos from left to right, top to bottom, and then back the other way. Her and Snape sharing a glance in front of her parents’ house, the two of them deep in discussion at the café, her sitting on his stool and starting up at him. But then there were also pictures where she was not looking at him at all. Her hands were in her pockets and she was looking at the ground or she was gesticulating wildly, but he was looking at her, like he was listening intently. Those photos made her the most uncomfortable for some reason.

“Paul, since you love being the center of attention, why don’t you start us off?” Percy asked.

“Uh,” he stammered, “they all were taken from outside.” Hermione could not have done much better. She did not have any clue what Percy wanted from them.

“Yes, Paul, we can all see that. I want subtext not text!” Percy turned away from Paul to his next victim. “Phaedra?”

“Yes, Percy?” Phaedra said, looking up from her notebook. 

“Why don’t you explain what we’re looking for to Paul?”

“Alright. I guess I can take a stab at it.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. Hermione watched her eyes move from photo to photo. “Paul was correct when he mentioned that the photographer was always on the outside.”

Of course, Hermione thought. Phaedra would never want to make someone feel bad no matter how pitiful their answer was.

“But,” Phaedra continued, “the most important part is what the photographer captured. He—I’m not being sexist; I know his work—could have just taken a close-up on the two of them, but he chose the space surrounding the subjects carefully. From the composition, you have a greater idea of what’s going on in the photograph, the story that the photographer was trying to tell.”

“Yes, thank you, Phaedra. Insightful as always.” Hermione wanted to laugh, but did not want to draw attention or Percy’s ire to herself. “We want the photographs to tell a story because they will hopefully tell a more impactful story than the words below them ever could.”

“A picture’s worth a thousand words,” Hermione whispered under her breath. This time should could not control it.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. Is there something you wanted to share with the rest of the room?” Percy turned his horn-rimmed fury to her now.

“Me? No? Sorry, Mr. Weasley, sir. I was just reiterating your point. ‘A picture is worth a thousand words.’” Since their last disagreement, Hermione felt like she was on more of an equal footing with her boss, but she still did not think that applied to meetings.

“What? What is that? The way you are saying that makes it sound like that is a thing. But I have literally never heard that before.”

“Oh, pardon me, then. Must be a muggle-only expression.” Or maybe, Hermione thought, you are not as smart as you think.

“Right, so, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted for the second time this meeting—need I remind you, witches and wizards, that we only have this room for a half an hour—if we are trying to show a story through the photographs, we have to have a story we want to tell. I trust you all brought your magical date ideas? Don’t worry; while we’re brainstorming, there is no such thing as a bad idea.”

The room was quiet. But Percy did not look displeased. Instead he brought his attention back to Paul, a predatory look in his eye. “Paul, now is your chance to redeem yourself. Let’s hear your ideas.”

Paul reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. After unfolding it, he looked nervously about the room before clearing his throat. “Candlelit dinner.”

“I’m sorry, did you say a candlelit dinner?” Percy asked, bending towards Paul and cupping his ear. Paul nodded, a sheepish look on his face. “Why would they go on _another_ dinner date? They’ve done that already.”

“But this one has candles,” Paul said, pointing at his piece of parchment as if to reiterate his point.

“Alright, next idea. I am looking for some ingenuity. Let’s use the season, people. We’re lucky this is happening during the coziest time of the year. And please no more like ‘candlelit dinner.’ Hermione, since this is your date after all, what are some things you would like to do?”

“How about building a snowman?” Hermione suggested knowing full well Phaedra would swoop in and make the perfect suggestion. Honestly, Hermione did not know why they were even having this meeting in the first place. It was not as if Phaedra, Percy, and the press were not masterminding everything already anyway.

But to Hermione’s surprise, Percy did not look annoyed. “A snow man?” He was confused. “A man made of snow?” Was that also a muggle thing? Hermione tried to remember if she ever saw anyone rolling snowmen at Hogwarts, but nothing came to mind.

“Uh, no, it’s when you roll balls of snow—usually three—and stack them on top of each other. And then you give the top ball, the head, like… features. Traditionally the eyes and mouth were made of coal and the nose can be a carrot—or I guess in the song it’s a button. Well, anyway then you stick twigs in the middle ball for arms.”

“Right,” said Percy, no longer looking at her, “does anybody _else_ have any ideas?” Phaedra’s arm shot in the air. “Yes?”

“How does a sleigh ride sound?” 

Hermione snorted. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on her. “Oh, you were serious?”

“The only unserious person in this room is you, Hermione,” Percy said, his annoyance audible in his vowels.

“Sorry, I thought she was continuing the bit. First I suggested ‘Frosty the Snowman’ and then she suggests ‘Jingle Bells?’”

“Hermione, if you’re going to continue to talk nonsense, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, pushing in her chair.

“No, sir,” Phaedra said, “please let Hermione stay. I’ll admit I was partially inspired by her answer. In the song she is referring to—a traditional muggle Christmas carol—there is mention of a one-horse open sleigh, which I realized would be good for taking photographs from. But I suppose what Hermione forgets is that sleigh rides are not an uncommon means of transportation in our world.”

Hermione begrudgingly sat back down. In that moment, she kind of hated Phaedra. She almost had an out. And she didn’t forget the sleighs, not totally at least. But at least she could probably zone out for the rest of this meeting. It was not as if she had a final say in the matter. And how was she supposed to know what sorts of dates photographed well anyway? If anything this was all a waste of everyone else’s time. She could be doing real work that had a positive impact on the people in their community.

Hermione watched Phaedra out of the corner of her eye, diligently taking notes and giving her whole attention to Percy. Merlin, could she be more of a teacher’s pet? She had enough self-awareness to know that she herself was the same way but there was nothing quite as annoying as seeing your worst qualities mirrored in someone else. 

With their curly hair and penchant for know-it-all-ism, Phaedra was a bit like Hermione. But that’s where the similarities ended. Phaedra was younger; Hermione was not sure by how much. She was taller than Hermione and would probably be considered more conventionally attractive. And of course she had sparkling blue eyes. Plus she was engaged to someone she loved. Actually, maybe they were not that much alike at all.

“Alright, so we’ve tentatively decided on sleigh ride, ice skating, and Christmas shopping. Action items: Phaedra, I can count on you to set all of this up?” Phaedra nodded. “The rest of you are useless, so you all are free to go on to your next meetings. Not you, Hermione.”

Hermione turned around sheepishly to see Percy removing the pictures of her and placing them in a file folder. Phaedra was furiously scrawling in her leather-bound notebook with an expensive-looking fountain pen.

“Can we count on you to wrangle Snape?” Percy said, straightening.

“Has he proven himself uncooperative in the past?” Hermione asked.

“We had to lie that one time to get you both involved. Are you going to lie to him again?”

“I don’t have to lie to him. He’ll do whatever I ask of him.” The words had just kind of slipped off her tongue but she got the distinct feeling, based on all of their previous actions, that he would actually do anything she asked of him. Weird. When had that happened? 

“Is that so?” Percy said with a sneer. “Because I got another report on my desk this morning detailing just how well how this information campaign is going and well, Phaedra does tell me you’re getting along much better.” Hermione shot the woman a glance but Phaedra was looking elsewhere, twirling a piece of her hair on her finger.

“Yes,” Hermione said, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. “You might say we’re even friends.”

“Friends? Wow! Who would’ve thought? Then you should have no trouble doing what we ask you to.”

* * *

Severus was stirring a pot of stew when he heard a knock on his front door. He had no idea who it could be, so initially he planned to continue his stirring, pretending he was not home despite his lights clearly being on until the perpetrator left. But then he had a flash of hope that it was Hermione. He had no idea why she would be at his house since they had had no prior arrangement but she did now know where he lived, so it was not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

“Sorry for the intrusion.” It was indeed Hermione. She had looked just as she had the last time she was on his porch. Bundled up and a little nervous. “And you don’t have to worry about me being followed. I apparated here from my apartment.”

“You can intrude any time you like,” he said before he realized how odd that sounded. But his comment earned a wide smile from Hermione. “Why don’t you intrude right now?” Severus said, gesturing inside.

Hermione stepped over the threshold. “Smells wonderful. I won’t keep you long.” Then she looked down. Severus also looked down, trying to follow her gaze. She was probably looking at his apron, which prominently featured the words “Kiss the Cook.”

“Uh, yes, Todd buys me an apron every Christmas. It’s our little joke.”

“I see,” she said, a smile once more gracing her lips. “And what do you buy him?”

“Oh,” Severus said, fully aware how bad what he was about to say would sound. “I’m not particularly good at buying gifts so I usually just give him a bonus.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide. “What’s so hard about gifts, do you think?”

Severus shrugged. “I just want to buy people books. But I imagine it gets tiresome. Especially if they’re not big readers.”

“Well, I will always readily accept a book as a gift. Speaking of which, that’s why I’m here.” She reaches into her pocket and handed him a piece of parchment. Severus unfolded the parchment to see a list of dates and times and notes by each.

“What’s this?”

“More photo opportunities.” Severus gave the parchment a second glance. He could tell it was not Hermione’s writing, though equally neat. “One is them is to go Christmas shopping together. And no, these weren’t my decision. It was decided by committee.”

Severus nodded. They all seemed reasonable, not too demanding. Except ice skating. He could not ice skate but based on the date he still had a little time to figure it out. He had seen children doing it. How hard could it be?

“Wonderful. Government-mandated dates.” He looked at Hermione then. She looked displeased at his words.

“I’ll be leaving you alone now. Guess I’ll see you then,” she said indicating to the parchment.

“Wait!” he said, a little too forcefully. “Stay. For dinner, that is.”

“Oh. Do you have enough?” Severus did not want to say that he had been making extra dinner every night to take into work every day for lunch to save on eating out, especially since he was not entirely sure what he was saving for. It had seemed prudent for starting married life. So he just nodded.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, shedding her winter layers. “That reminds me. Have you seen my scarf?”

Severus opened his closet which luckily still held the makeshift rod and hangar. He saw no sign of the scarf. “No, I’m sorry.” He was not sure where else it could have gotten to in his house, if it were indeed here.

Hermione shook her head. “Hm, I suppose I’ll have to keep looking. Worst comes to worst, I’ll have to try to replicate it so my mum doesn’t find out.”

They were sat at his small table since Severus had laid out books all over his dining room table to plan a new research project. He hoped the proximity did not make Hermione uncomfortable. But this time he knew better. Severus only offered non-alcoholic beverages, to which Hermione asked for water.

“I didn’t thank you yet for returning my binder,” she said after one of their typical quiet spells. And yet, though he had come to expect the moments of silence, tonight’s felt different to Severus. Or maybe was otherthinking things like usual.

“Well, if you need any more help planning, I am at your service. It shouldn’t fall entirely to you.”

“It’s not. Phaedra is doing all of it,” Hermione said. He could not quite place her tone? Was she rueful or annoyed?

Severus wanted to say that he saw her by the auror office but then he might have to say why he was at the auror office, so he kept his mouth shut. “You’ll have to tell her thank you from me. Oh, that reminds me, tell her she can choose whichever suit she likes for me.”

“Will do. I can tell her at my dress fitting, which,” she sighed audibly, “I suppose is coming up rather soon.”

“So, what did you decide on? Oh... should I have let you pick my suit? So it matches your dress?” How could he be so foolish? Of course Hermione should have the final say on what he wears.

Hermione chuckled. “I have no idea. I told her to pick whatever she wanted for me. I don’t really have much of a taste and she has a theme going anyway.”

“A theme? And what’s that?”

“Silver and gold, I guess,” Hermione said, none too enthusiastically.

That explained the suits. He knew they were not to his perceived taste. “For the holiday?”

Hermione stirred her stew. “You can say that.” Had he asked the wrong thing?

“Oh. We can change the subject. I know it’s not your favorite thing in the world.”

“No, it’s just… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Color schemes make me uncomfortable?”

“Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Hermione stirred her bowl again. He did notice that she had more of an appetite today. “The colors are supposed to represent us. I’m gold for Gryffindor and the Golden Trio—”

“And I’m silver for Slytherin and silver doe.”

Hermione cocked her head. “I don’t think Phaedra mentioned that last one but that is a good idea.”

Why would that make him uncomfortable? To be represented by a color? Unless she did not like the implication of them being represented together. That was certainly a possibility.

“So, I’m assuming your dress with have elements of silver?” Hermione looked momentarily confused. “Mine had golden accents,” he clarified.

“Cute,” Hermione said, though she did not sound like she meant it.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s a bit tacky, if I’m being honest. I would’ve never picked something so ostentatious for my own wedding.” Severus watched Hermione catch her own words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No offense taken. I… I feel the same way. It sort of feels like it’s happening to someone else.”

Hermione seemed to perk up at that. “Yes. Since we don’t really have much of a choice in the matter, I feel like I am watching everything unfold from afar.”

“I really am sorry about everything.”

Hermione shrugged. “You are just as much of a victim of their machinations as I am. You too are being dragged along to these government mandated dates.”

“Would you say they are government man...dates?”

Hermione looked at him like she was angry. “I would’ve never asked you to marry me if I knew you had such a terrible sense of humor.”

Severus could not help but laugh at that. “And I would never have agreed if I had known you were such a stick in the mud.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “My reputation doesn’t precede me? I’m the biggest stick in the mud. You of all people should know that.” Hermione laughed. “I may have intimated that breaking the rules was akin to dying my first year at Hogwarts.”

“A know-it-all and a stick in the mud?” Severus widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Should I get out now while I still have the chance?”

“I wouldn’t risk angering me. That wasn’t all I did my first year.” Hermione took a sip of her water, a devious look crossing her features. “I may have set someone on fire.”

Severus laughed. “That poor bastard.”

“Indeed.”

Severus’s eyes widened in genuine shock and understanding. “No! That was you?”

Hermione shrugged. “I thought you were trying to murder my friend.”

“So you set me on fire? You know, you could’ve told a teacher.”

Hermione shrugged. “You’re not the only one who’s had a flair for the dramatic.”

Severus was about to say that he had heard that she had always defended him and that that did not sound like always defending him, but he kept silent. He was not ready to admit from whom he had heard that.

“I’ll have to cover myself in flame retardant the day of the wedding,” he joked.

“You know? I hadn’t thought of that. I wonder if the law still applies to me if I’m widowed.”

That night, after Severus and Hermione said their goodbyes, Severus lay awake, replaying that evening’s conversations. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they were friends. Or maybe they weren’t. Friends did not keep secrets from each other. At least not that he remembered. He had told Lily everything.

Lily. He could not recall the last time he had thought about her. Merlin, what would she think of all this? He could not even imagine. Then again, he was not entirely sure about how he felt about it either.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this chapter up today because it's Hermione's birthday!! (at least still in my timezone)

Hermione lingered outside the dress shop for which Phaedra had given her the address. A cold breeze was whipping down the alley and her scarfless neck was getting chilly. Improvising, she had stuffed her hair down the front of her coat. It worked somewhat and had the added benefit of keeping her hair somewhat tame.

For this reason, Hermione was thankful that her hair had grown quite long in the intervening months, when she had been too busy to cut it. Well, not that she was really, truly too busy, but work certainly provided a cover, since she absolutely hated going to the hairdresser. She never knew what to say and the setting seemed too intimate for her to say nothing. 

On the other hand, Hermione had learned the hard way not to cut it herself. Suffering through one bad haircut had cemented that lesson in her mind. So, for the time being, her split ends functioned as an ad hoc scarf.

“Hello!” Phaedra said. Hermione had never seen her outside of the office before, but of course she was still dressed just as stylishly. Her own curly hair was done in a neat chignon at the nape of her neck under a beret that looked cute but probably did not do much to keep Phaedra’s ears warm. Still, she looked a lot happier than Hermione. “Aren’t you excited? No. Wait. I already know the answer. Of course you’re not,” Phaedra said with a hint of a laugh.

They walked inside but there was no one around. Phaedra had gotten them an early appointment at all of their destinations so they would have the whole place to themselves. She was somewhat of a celebrity now—though she was loath to admit it—they did not want to be gawked at. Especially since her dress was not only supposed to be a surprise to her future “husband”, but also to the world. Phaedra had said there might be some media personnel present, but no one was supposed to get a picture of her in any dress, just imply that she was now going through the process.

“Here you go!” Phaedra said, handing Hermione a drink in a to-go mug. Hermione sipped—coffee. Hermione could cry. How many times had she gotten Percy coffee and how many times had someone brought some for her? Never.

“This is wonderful. Thanks Phaedra.” The coffee was washing away all of the ill-will she had felt for the woman at their previous meeting.

“Don’t mention it. I was already at the café and I figured I would grab one for you.”

“That really is sweet.” Hermione took another sip. “How did you know how I liked it though?”

Phaedra looked thoughtful for a moment before they heard someone else come into the store. Hermione saw long red hair and freckles.

“Ginny!?” Hermione said, hardly able to contain her shock. Ginny ran to her and pulled Hermione into a hug.

“I hope you don’t mind that I invited her,” Phaedra said. “I wanted you to have a friend here to make it more fun for you.”

“Thank you, Phaedra. That’s so thoughtful of you,” Hermione managed to get out while Ginny threatened to snap her in half. Coffee and Ginny? She once again had misjudged Phaedra. She really had to stop doing that when Phaedra had proven herself only to be kind.

“I missed you so much, Mione,” Ginny said, increasing the pressure of the hug like a constricting snake. Hermione winced at both the pain and the nickname. She had not been called that in a long time.

“I’ve been so busy with work,” Hermione said, when Ginny finally let her go. It was taking all of her strength to hold back a sob. Why wasn’t Ginny furious at her like Harry had been? “I’m sorry. That’s no excuse.”

“Don’t cry,” Ginny said, “Phee told me there’s photographers around and I would hate for all your photos to be tear-stained.” Ginny wiped her fingers under Hermione’s eyes. “Besides, I haven’t exactly been around myself. I just happened to be in town but I’m leaving again soon for another game.”

Hermione nodded. Still she felt like she deserved ugly photos as penance for abandoning one of her closest friends. It was not Ginny’s fault that Ron was her brother. Hermione was about to open ask her about Harry when Phaedra came back into the main room followed by a shop assistant wheeling in a rack of dresses.

“Voilà!” Phaedra said, gesturing to the rack. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she said after taking a steadying breath. She was not going to cry; she was going to try on clothes like an adult. She was not going to think too hard about what she was going to do or what it meant—she was just going to do it. Hermione definitely felt like she could do anything now that Ginny was by her side.

Phaedra pulled a dress off the rack and handed it to Hermione. Hermione stepped into the changing room. She pulled down her sweatpants—Phaedra had told her to wear something that was easy to take on and off—and pulled her sweater over her head. She had also been given instruction to wear a strapless bra which Hermione did not have. So she pulled her straps down and stuck the bra to her body with magic.

She slipped into the first dress and tried to zip it up behind her with her own two hands. Out of frustration, she toddled over to her wand, pressing the bodice to her chest and bent over to grab her wand. Once zipped inside, the most immediate sensation was heaviness. The straps dug into her shoulders and the skirt felt like it was dragging her to the ground—or perhaps to hell—but otherwise the dress hugged her snugly and she doubted this particular one would require many alterations. 

There was a mirror in the dressing room but she dared not turn to look upon herself. So she pulled back the curtain and stepped before her audience. “I am ready,” she half-joked. “It already fits so I think we’re done.”

“It’s a little long,” Ginny said. Hermione looked at the hell-dragging hem pooling on the floor and back at Ginny and Phaedra.

“Sorry we can’t all be giants like you two, but I will wear high heels.”

Ginny turned to Phaedra, “Do not let her wear heels. She will fall on her face and embarrass the ministry.”

“What am I supposed to wear? I can’t wear flats to my wedding!” Hermione, stamping a foot to accentuate her point. Truthfully she did not care, but with Ginny would know she was making a joke. “Has any woman ever not worn heels to her wedding?”

“I think they are going to have to make an exception for you, Mione.”

Phaedra cut in. “I don’t know. If she’s as bad as you say, it’s nothing that can’t be improved with a couple of lessons and a bit of practice.” Could she tell they were joking? She had not known Ginny or Hermione as long as they had known each other, so maybe she had not picked up on their senses of humor. When did Phaedra meet Ginny anyway? At Hogwarts?

“Don’t give Hermione homework. She will love you forever and we can’t have that when you need her to marry Snape.” Ginny snickered. “I wonder if that’s how she fell in love with him in the first place,” she said with a wink.

It was some relief to Hermione that Ginny already knew the match was fake. Ginny might have been told or she might have figured it out on her own. Hermione was leaning toward the second option, since she trusted her friend’s perception. She had known even before Hermione herself that Hermione was going to end things with Ron. Now if only Harry were as perceptive as her.

“So,” Phaedra said, bringing the conversation around, “what do we think?”

“It’s white… and big.”

“Yes, do you like the shape?”

Hermione shrugged. “I suppose.” Even if she did look like a pastry.

“It’s certainly a good first choice.” Phaedra pulled her leather-bound notebook from her bag. “I will make note of this one and we can move onto the next,” she said, smiling to Hermione.

Hermione turned to look at the dresses on the rack. There were still at least a dozen left. And this was only the first store. She wanted to complain but she knew that that would only prolong her suffering. Hermione would have to suck it up, because, really, she had suffered much worse.

So the cycle began. Hermione would unzip a dress, zip up the new dress, and do circles for Ginny and Phaedra. Ginny would make a snide remark and Phaedra would make a note. She did not feel like they were making any progress toward a decision but at the end of the day, it did not feel like it was her decision to make anyway.

Finally they reached the last dress. While Hermione shimmied into it, she could not think of how it differed from any of the other dresses she had tried on that day. They were all white and big and stiff.

“Tada,” Hermione said, spinning quicker than she had before, eager to be out of there, but she quickly grew dizzy.

“Gorgeous,” Ginny said. “Is that how you’re going to dance on the big day?”

Hermione stuck her tongue out as a response, nausea still gripping her body. She had not thought about dancing. Goodness were they going to embarrass themselves? There was no way in hell Snape could dance and she had not had lessons since before she had attended Hogwarts. And those were in tap and ballet, not ballroom.

Hermione looked to Phaedra who was still scribbling in her notebook. Had she planned for dancing lessons? She made a mental note to ask her about it later. As if she sensed Hermione’s question, Phaedra closed her notebook with a resounding thud.

“Thank you, Catherine,” she said to the shop assistant. “I will get back to you when we’ve made our final decision.”

Next store, similar story. Hermione was surprised at how unbored Ginny appeared. Hermione herself was bored out of her mind and she was at least doing something—Ginny was just standing there. But when she said as much to her friend, Ginny just snorted and said, “I expect you to do the same for me when the time comes,” which filled Hermione’s heart with joy. Her friend did not hate her. She could not say the same for Harry, but at least one person liked her still.

At their fourth and final stop, Hermione tried on a dress, which she could immediately tell she liked. Maybe it was just because it was the last one and thus the freshest in her memory, but it did not feel heavy, but rather light and smooth. When she stepped out of the dressing room and did her little twirl, she was immediately met with a wolf whistle from Ginny.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“That certainly shows a lot of skin,” Ginny said, raising an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?” Hermione looked down. The neckline was modest, but she supposed it did expose her shoulders. But shoulders? There was nothing sexy about those.

“Take a look at the back,” Ginny said. Hermione tried to look behind her, apparently forgetting she was not an owl. She supposed she would have to face herself in the mirror.

She stepped up to the closest one and was almost taken aback by how much she did not recognize herself. Sure her usual messy hair was present, but she looked different somehow; she could not put her finger on it. Remembering her purpose for looking in the mirror she turned and looking over her shoulder, she saw what Ginny had meant. The back plunged so deeply that if she had been wearing her granny panties, they would probably have been visible.

Hermione returned her attention to her companions. Ginny was winking at her but Phaedra was worrying her lip and writing something down furiously. “I don’t know. I think I like it.”

“Was this among the pre-selected group?” Phaedra asked the attendant, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth shook her head. “It is one of Madame Fleury’s favorites and she thought maybe Miss Granger would like it.”

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Phaedra said, “I have to get this approved by a lot of people. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“Come on, Phee, just have the nice dress lady add a lace panel! Then it would only be a modestly sexy dress. Pers won’t be able to complain then.”

“That’s not a horrible idea…” Elizabeth said. “I can ask Madame Fleury if she’d be willing to alter her masterpiece.”

Ginny beamed at Hermione. Hermione shook her head. “That seems like a lot of work for something I—”

“Don’t be silly, Hermione,” Phaedra interrupted. “This is the most important day of your life and it needs to be perfect. Liz, thank you for your help. We’ll be in contact.”

Hermione realized her mistake after the fact. She could not let anyone she did not trust know that the marriage was fake. She changed back into her own clothes, ready to offer a quiet apology to Pheadra, but when she re-emerged, the woman was nowhere to be seen.

“Phee had somewhere else she had to be,” Ginny supplied when she saw Hermione looking around. “But we can do something. Do you want to get something to eat? I’m starved. And it was hard looking at you the whole time when you looked good enough to eat.” she said, pinching Hermione’s cheeks.

Hermione nodded slowly before shaking her head. “Your brother probably still expects me at work.”

“Aw, come on, Hermione you spent all day trying on clothes—which you absolutely despise—for  _ your job _ ! It’s Saturday. Can’t you just call it a day?”

“I can’t though. I have other responsibilities besides getting married. I miss you, Ginny. I really do.”

“Alright…” Ginny said, looking utterly dejected. “We really miss you Hermione. Just know I want to spend more time with you and not just for work and not just because Phaedra invited me.”

Hermione watched her friend disappear and walked back to the ministry, to the office, to see the Weasley who hated her the most, which was saying something considering who was counted among them.

She sat down at her desk, feeling absolutely miserable, confident that she had made the wrong decision. Would it really have been so bad if she had left early to hang out with Ginny? Percy had been giving her a little more leeway after she had stuck up for herself, so she might have gotten away with it.

Hermione sighed. Maybe she had made excuses because being around Ginny still reminded her too much of him. No. She knew it was not that, at least not entirely. She spent nearly every waking moment with Percy and that did nothing to remind her. Or maybe because the extreme dislike she had for Percy trumped any other feelings.

So what was it then? Had she totally forgotten how to be a person, how to spend time with friends? The only “friend” she spent time with lately was Snape and she did not think that worse accurately described their relationship. Were they actually friends or really just two captives stuck in the same shitty situation?

That reminded her; Hermione still had to tell Phaedra that Snape had given her permission to choose however she pleased for his ensemble. And Ginny had said that Phaedra had somewhere else to be, so she might be at the office. Hermione stood up from her desk and looked around, surprised that Percy was nowhere to be found.

She walked the now familiar path to Phaedra’s office, which was not far from her own. As she approached, she noticed that her door was shut. That probably meant that Phaedra had left for the day. At least one of them was smart enough to know when to quit.

Hermione was about to turn away when she heard giggling, followed by silence, followed by more giggling. Phaedra might be in, but that did not sound like a conversation Hermione would want to interrupt.

“Hermione?” Hearing her own name stopped Hermione in her tracks. “Her again? I’m so tired of talking about her!” That was definitely Phaedra’s voice. Ouch. So much for Phaedra only being kind to her. And to think, Hermione thought Phaedra had genuinely liked her. Then again, if her whole job was revolved around one person, she might get tired of them too.

Then she heard a man’s laugh. That laugh was so familiar. Why was the laugh familiar? If Hermione truly had a sense of what was going on in there, that would have to be Phaedra’s fiancé. But why would this man’s laugh be familiar to her? She did not know him. At least, she assumed she did not, since neither he, nor Phaedra, nor anyone else had made his identity known to her. Unless it was not Phaedra’s fiancé after all. Percy was still unaccounted for and how often had she heard him laugh, especially at her expense? 

The sound of laughter was followed by a crash and more giggling from Phaedra. What were they doing in there? Percy was married and Phaedra was engaged. And yet, maybe her fiancé knew. Maybe their engagement was also fake and they had an agreement about extramarital relations. Maybe they were not so happy together as Hermione had thought. Maybe Phaedra had only projected an air of happiness, when in reality her relationship was just as hollow as Hermione’s.

But Hermione could hardly imagine Percy doing such a thing to Penelope. Despite his flaws, he always seemed like such a doting husband. Then again, if he was such a great spouse, why was he in the office as much as he was? Plus work certainly provided a cover for an illicit affair.

But Phaedra with Percy? Hermione had to stop herself. Did that even make sense? He treated Phaedra specially but Hermione had always just assumed that was because he loved rubbing it in Hermione’s face that he could be nice to other people. She could never imagine their relationship to be… of that nature.

Her imagination was getting the better of her. She could have just thought she recognized the laugh. How many different kinds of laughs were there really? And even if it was Percy, it didn’t mean they were doing anything inappropriate for the workplace. Her mind was creating connections that did not exist.

Phaedra and Percy? The idea seemed ridiculous to her now. She was probably just delirious from lack of sleep and in desperate need of a good, long nap. Fortunately for her, there was a mattress under her desk and no boss in sight.   
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, when I saw all those "you've got comments" emails in my inbox, I thought I had messed something up really bad. I didn't foresee it would be full of people's theories. I really enjoyed reading them all.

Unfortunately for Todd’s sake, the blasted sleigh ride—honestly, he had no idea how the ministry came up with this stuff—would be occurring when the shop was still open, while it was still light out, so that meant Todd would have to run the show without Severus. Still, after their many years of working together, Severus had developed a fair bit of trust in his employee and since they were mostly just selling wart cream as of late, he was not so worried about Todd getting through the rest of the day without him.

“Do you think you can hold down the fort without me?” Severus asked, looking at himself in the mirror Todd used to look for shoplifters. The mirror was convex to get a wider view of the store, so Severus did not look as he normally would, but he nevertheless found himself lacking. Ought he get a real haircut? Beyond just trimming the ends every once and awhile? He kept this style because he could get away with cutting it less frequently than other styles but he did know if it made him appear less than husbandly.

He breathed out through his nose. He did not like getting his picture taken because he was supremely unphotogenic. Hermione was lucky. She always looked good in the magazine photos he had unwillingly seen as he passed newsstands. He, on the other hand—well, it was like looking into that convex mirror—in pictures his nose seemed even more out of place on his face.

Todd snorted. “You know, sir, it’s kind of unfair that you are getting all of this positive media attention and no one wants to interview me. I have some great stories about you.”

“Ha. Take that up with your sister. Not me.”

“Yeah…” Todd said.

“Do you want me to say ‘hello’ for you?” 

“No, she gets enough of me at family functions.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Let’s just say that we have some disagreements on morality and I’m not afraid to voice my opinions.”

Severus knew to leave it at that. Plus he had to go. But still, he could not help but wonder what Todd had meant by that. Did he find her work morally objectionable? If he did, then he would probably not like what Severus was doing either. But he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut if it meant him keeping his job. Severus, however, would never penalize him for telling the truth.

Hermione had told him to meet her at the Ministry again where they could portkey out to the location. The photoshoot was occurring much farther north, where there actually was snow. And to be far from the prying eyes of muggles or other curious onlookers.

When he saw Hermione waiting for him in their usual meeting spot, he felt his nervousness melt away. Severus had come to terms with the fact that he genuinely enjoyed spending time with her, their chatter a balm on his lonely soul. She smiled politely, completely unaware of the effect she had on him.

“Hello,” he said, looking down at her, which was impossible not to do since he was about a head taller. “Oh,” he said, thinking how best to phrase it, “I think your hair might be caught in your zipper.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she said, trying to wrench her hair free. When that didn’t work, she tried pulling the zipper down and holding her hair.

“May I help?” Severus asked when it looked like she was about to rip her hair from her scalp. She nodded her head and Severus removed his gloves to get a better grip. He hesitated at first—he had never touched her with his bare skin—but then he went for it. He firmly yanked her zipper down while she held her hair.

“Thanks,” she said as Severus put back on his gloves.

“Anytime,” he responded suddenly aware of their proximity. He took a step aside and she mirrored him.

Hermione checked her watch. “You were early so we still have a couple minutes before the portkey activates. So,” she said bouncing on the balls of her feet, another nervous tic he had noticed. “Have you ever been on a sleigh ride before?”

“Do the thestral rides to Hogwarts count?”

“I will have to say ‘no,’ since I think those are technically carriages.”

“Then no.”

“Me neither,” Hermione said.

“Well then this engagement is full of new experiences for both of us. How fortunate.”

“I don’t know. I think there’s a reason muggles don’t travel like this anymore. It’s like driving in convertible in the winter.”

“Are you saying wizards are not smart?”

“No, I’m _not_ saying that because my boss still travels in his official sleigh.”

Severus chuckled. “Just because it’s tradition doesn’t mean it’s not stupid.”

“I am frequently reminded of that fact.” Hermione checked her watch again. “Alright. Go time.” She held out her hand which Severus took, while she touched the portkey—what appeared to be a mock-up of a wedding invitation—to a bare patch of skin.

They arrived in what appeared to be a cleared field, now blanketed in snow. A gaggle of witches and wizards were already gathered on location by a cluster of tents. Severus recognized them from the last shoot. Hair, makeup, lighting, photography. He had never expected to be treated in such a way in his life, but, then again, he had never expected to live this long either.

He parted from Hermione and was led into a tent by the witch who had styled him last time. Thankfully she was older than him so he did not have the weirdness associated with having taught her. She was also chatty which made it easier on him since it was becoming painfully obvious just how bad he was at conversation.

She offered him a chair after taking his coat and his gloves, and introduced herself again. Not that she needed to. He remembered her name—Jane—from their last meeting. He half-smiled and introduced himself as well, which earned him a laugh. 

“Of course I know who you are,” Jane said, fluffing his hair.

“Jane?” Severus said before he lost his nerve. “Could we do something different?”

“How different?” she asked, a smile forming on her lips.

“Shorter?” he responded in the form of a question. He had made up his mind about cutting his hair while waiting with Hermione but he was not sure if other people would agree with his idea. But why wouldn’t they when it would surely make him look more “presentable.”

“I like the way you think. But I have to get permission before I do anything. One second.”

Severus shifted nervously in his chair. Despite his conviction, there was a possibility he could end up looking even worse. Severus tried to slow his beating heart by reminding himself that it was just hair and would grow back eventually.

“Alright,” Jane said when she returned, draping a barber’s cape around his shoulders. “It was a pain in the butt; I had to get permission from five different people. So I hope you like this.”

Each pass of her scissors was like holding a breath, but when Jane had finished, it was a glorious exhalation. His head certainly felt lighter and he wouldn’t have to worry about it getting in his face.

He did not have much time to look at his new everyman cut though because Jane still had to shave him, which admittedly felt so good. That’s why he had not really complained at the last shoot. Merlin, he really was touch-starved, wasn’t he?

After a shave and a haircut, he was deemed photo-ready—or as ready as someone like him could be. It was then that he was reunited with Hermione who, like him, looked markedly different than when they had parted. She was not looking in his direction but he could see someone had braided her hair and traded her hat for earmuffs and given her a plaid scarf underneath a dark pink pea coat. 

As he took in her new outfit, someone walked in front of him, obscuring her from his view. This woman expertly tied a plaid scarf around his neck. And when the woman had left, Hermione was now looking at him. She looked sad. Why? He had known why she had cried at the last photoshoot. Was it the same reason now?

“We match,” he said at the same she said, “What happened to your hair?”

“Oh. It doesn’t look too bad, does it?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious. “I thought it was time for a change. And how often does one get the opportunity for a free haircut?”

“No, it doesn’t look bad at all. Although, I must say, I am sad about the lost potential of your nascent beard.”

Severus watched Hermione turn a bright shade of pink before turning away from him. How was he supposed to interpret that?

* * *

Hermione was not sure what had come over her when she had said that. Perhaps she had been so caught off guard by his new appearance or perhaps she was finally starting to feel comfortable around him. Still, they were not _that_ comfortable with each other.

And soon they would be sat next to each other in a sleigh. What would be more awkward? To say nothing or to keep talking, like she had not just said that she missed the stubble on his face. Merlin, what was that about anyway? She had always asked Ron to shave but that was because every prickly kiss tickled her to the point of insanity. 

So, maybe that was the difference. She never had to kiss Snape. Unless they would be expected to today. Well, she supposed, that was one way to get over her awkward comment from earlier—replace it with something even more awkward.

They were ushered into the sleigh, which Hermione could admit was very nice and maybe in a different situation she could appreciate the craftsmanship, but not today. The sleigh was not very wide so she squeezed herself against the opposite wall, far from Snape, but when an assistant to one of the photographers tried to drape a blanket over their laps, she was forced to scoot closer to him. Due to their proximity she now held herself as stiff as a board so that they would not touch.

Hermione nearly jumped out of her seat when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Hermione,” she felt Phaedra whisper into her ear. “Relax.” To hammer her point across, she kneaded both of Hermione’s shoulders. “This will be over before you know it. And if you relax, it’ll go even faster.”

She tried not to make it too obvious that her opinion of Phaedra had changed once more. Hermione still could not be sure there was merit to her theory but she did not want to Phaedra to know that she had overheard anything, even if it had led her down the totally wrong path.

So Hermione nodded and took a breath but still did not look at her companion, which apparently was good enough for Phaedra, because she took her leave. Hermione still could not believe he had cut his hair. She had only seen him look one way and it was a quite a shock seeing him another way. Why had he done it? Had he done it for her? Why? She had never asked him to do anything of the sort.

Hermione stared at the all white horses standing in front of the sleigh, their ears twitching as they listened to the hustle and bustle around them. The horse wrangler, presumably a magizoologist, came over, soothed the horses, and soon they were on their way.

She had cared about elfish welfare but she had paid little attention to horse and their kin. Were she and Snape heavy? Would it be tough pulling them? They were large and wide and appeared rather strong, but one could never be too certain.

“The horses aren’t actually pulling,” Snape said, as if he were reading her thoughts. “The sleigh is magicked to follow a course.” She looked at him, obvious confusion written on her face. How did he know all of ths? But when she caught her mistake—looking in his eyes—she quickly stared turned to face forward, hoping her red cheeks could be mistaken for the cold. “I overheard them talking about it,” he explained.

Hermione nodded reflexively but found she was genuinely curious. “But if the sleigh follows a course, how do the horses know which way to go?”

“Did you see the young man talking to the horses?” Hermione nodded. “Well, that’s just the thing. He was _talking_ to the horses.”

Hermione had heard mention of witches and wizards who had the ability to talk to animals but it was rare. “Who is he?”

“Rolf Scamander. The famous Newt Scamander’s grandson.”

That’s right. Hermione had been vaguely aware of him when her life had begun to crumble and she had heard that Luna had gotten a new boyfriend after Neville—more relationships she had left to die.

They went around a curve then and Hermione slid a bit on the hard chair but worked hard not to touch Snape. In the process, however, she managed to jostle their artfully arranged blanket. She reached out to put it back in place but instead of blanket was met with fingers trying to do the same thing.

“Pardon me,” he said when Hermione forcefully jerked her hand back. But the blanket was still askew so when Hermione reached to fix it again, their hands met for a second time. “I’ve got it,” he said. Hermione stuck her hands back in her lap.

“Your hands are freezing.”

“I know. But trust me, they’re like that even when I’m not forced to do ridiculous stuff like this.”

“They took our gloves?” Severus said after he reached into his pockets and came away empty-handed. “Seems particularly cruel, doesn’t it?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s like they wanted us to be cold so that we would have to huddle for warmth.”

Snape laughed. “Well, Heaven forbid we do that.” Then Hermione felt warmth trickle over her skin and up her spine.

“Thank you for that. I should’ve done that at the start.”

“Check your pocket. I think they’ve stolen our wands as well.”

Hermione did as she was instructed. She had left her wand in her own coat. Normally she would not have been so careless but these things always made her so nervous. “Those bastards! What if something happens?”

“I imagine the photographers stationed all over the course would come to our rescue. After taking a couple of photos first, of course.”

Hermione turned around in her seat. They were somewhat far from where they had started but she could still make out the tents. “Wait, how did you do that with your wand so far away?”

“With some difficulty, I must admit,” he said. It was then that Hermione could hear the strain in his voice. Wandless magic was possible—Hermione was quite capable of it herself—but her wand was usually nearby when she did it.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself on my account!” Hermione said suddenly feeling very guilty.

“It’s alright. I’ve heard you’re an accomplished healer.”

Hermione snorted. “Maybe in another life.” The idea seemed so ridiculous now. “And without my wand? No chance.” She turned in her seat, knocking the blanket off again. “You know?” she said, barely a whisper.

It was his turn to nod and look uncomfortable. “I never said thank you.”

“I never meant for you to find out.”

“I figured as much or else you would have led with that,” Snape said with an awkward chuckle.

Hermione was thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I probably wouldn’t be in this situation at all if I hadn’t taken Kingsley up on his offer. He saw how I performed at your trial and offered me a job on the spot. It was between that and starting an apprenticeship at St. Mungo’s.”

“The law might still have been passed though.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t be there to propel it along.” Waves of regret crashed over her and bubbled in her belly. Would the law even apply to her? She probably would still be with Ron and so she might not even care. 

“But would you be in a position to do something about it?”

That shut Hermione up. People sure did love to ask her questions that she had no idea how to answer. “I’m sure you are bummed I accepted Kingsley’s job offer,” she said at last.

“Maybe at first. But truthfully? Not anymore. It’s nice to have a friend.” Hermione thought he might be joking at first but he sounded so earnest.

“You want to be friends with me?”

“Isn’t that what marriages are built on?”

Hermione wanted to laugh, wanted to remind him that this was far from a real marriage. But when he had just admitted that he liked having her as a friend, that seemed far too cruel a reminder. She had told Percy and Phaedra that they were friends but that had felt like a lie or a half-truth at the time. But he thought they were friends? She supposed he did invite her to dinner multiple times now.

He may have been treating her like a friend, but had she been doing the same for him? Did she even know what it meant to be a friend? Not with her track record, it seemed. They neared the tents once more but the sleigh was not stopping so she supposed they still had not gotten the shot they wanted. She hoped that she and Snape would not run out of things to talk about before this whole thing was over.

“Yes, but _you_ want to be friends with _me_.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I’m,” she dropped her voice an octave and slowed her words, “an insufferable know-it-all.”

Apparently he did not find her impression insulting because he laughed. “There are worse qualities to have. You could be an arsonist for one thing.”

Hermione smiled despite herself. “I shouldn’t have told you if you’re going to keep bringing it up.”

“Please don’t take it the wrong way. I think it is incredibly funny. People have this idea of you being this nice caring person, but you have a mean streak.”

“I kept Rita Skeeter in a jar in her beetle animagus form.”

“What did she ever do to you?”

“She was printing lies about me in the newspaper.”

“It’s a good thing you’re a politician or else you might have to go to Azkaban for your crimes.”

“I know. And now I’m asking her to lie about me in the _Prophet_. How the tides have turned.”

“I’m only joking about you having a mean streak. I think you also have an uncommon sense of justice.”

“What do you mean?” she asked searching his face.

“You defended me. I never once showed myself worthy of your defense but you did it anyway.”

“Oh, that. Yes, I suppose it was weird for me to defend you even after you insulted my teeth.”

“I insulted your teeth? When? That’s rich, coming from me.”

“One time before class. Draco and Harry were throwing hexes and one hit me and caused my teeth to grow to an enormous size. You saw this and remarked, ‘I see no difference.’”

“That is unfortunate… I’m sorry I don’t remember that.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure you were under extreme pressure with your double life and all. And it gave me an excuse to have Madam Pomfrey shrink them even smaller than their original size.”

“Still.” He sighed. “How is it that we can forget something that caused someone else such lasting pain?”

Hermione thought on his words for a moment, wondering who she might have hurt—intentionally or otherwise—over the years. It was probably more than she would guess. She looked at him again. She could see the sweat forming at his temples. “Are you alright? You can stop, you know.”

“No, I’m fine. Talking… talking helps.”

“Alright,” she said, searching her mind for something to talk about. If they were really going to be friends, she had to find more out about him. “What else do you like to do when you’re not working?”

“Experimental brewing. You saw the result of that on my dining room table. And I like to garden, both magical and non-magical plants. I use the magical plants as ingredients.”

“That’s cool. I would love to see your garden one day.”

“I would love to show you.” He looked away then. Was he embarrassed too? “Gardening has also, admittedly, gotten me into bird watching.”

“Oh, if you’re embarrassed about telling me that, don’t be! I can’t judge anyone for their interests.”

“No?”

“No. Are you kidding me? When I still had the time, I liked reading about engines.”

“Engines?”

“Yes, I thought they were so cool.” Admittedly she had started reading about them to explain to Mr. Weasley but even after that she had enjoyed learning beyond the basics.

“Who would’ve guessed? My fiancée is a gearhead.”

Hermione tried not to wince at the word. “Well, I can’t drive and I can’t afford a car. So am I really?”

“If you know what horsepower is, you’re already more of a gearhead than me.”

“Do you want me to explain it? I’m sure our friend,” she gestured to the horse, “here would be happy to demonstrate.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Snape was no longer looking at her, but instead something on the horizon. Maybe the snow that was gently falling or maybe the copse of trees just beyond a tiny hill. Maybe, she mused, he was looking at a bird. Hermione took this opportunity to get a better look at his hair which now stopped at his ears and the hairdresser had shaped into a side part. She wanted to ask him why he had done it, but she had already made it awkward and she was afraid she already knew the answer—he had done it for her. He had changed a part himself for her. And he did not care that she had saved him. And he wanted to be her friend. Hermione’s stomach was tying itself in knots. This was becoming so much more complicated.

“Counting my gray hairs?” He had caught her staring. She wanted to look away in embarrassment but his brown eyes seemed to be holding hers in place. They did not speak for awhile. They just stared at each other. What must he be thinking?

“You know,” she said, finally breaking their connection. “If you want to see someone else after we’re married, you’re allowed to do so. The ministry would probably prefer you to keep it to yourself, however.”

His face barely twitched but Hermione could tell she had hurt him. Why had she said that? She was so stupid. “Thank you for telling me that. You know what kind of man I am. Very popular with the ladies.”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it like that… it’s just—I thought I heard Percy and Phaedra doing stuff, as it were, and he’s obviously not her fiancé, so if you wanted an arrangement like that, I wouldn’t begrudge you your happiness.”

“You think Percy Weasley and Phaedra Chapman are having an affair?” He looked skeptical but she could see him seriously considering it.

“You must think I’m crazy.”

“I spoke to Todd this morning. He said he fought with her at family functions because he found her behavior immoral. I thought that meant something else, but maybe he does not like that she entered into a relationship with a married man.”

“I don’t have any definitive proof…”

“But you would not mind me looking into it?”

She beamed at him. “If it is the case that they’re engaging in an extramarital affair, it would not hurt to have a little ammunition against Percy. Y’know, should the need arise.”

“Should the need arise,” he said with a smile. “Just like if the need should arise with you and a special friend?”

Hermione snorted. “Forget I said it, Severus.” She watched his eyes widen at the mention of his given name. Suddenly shy, she tried to look anywhere on his face but his eyes. She could see the sweat beading at his forehead at the exertion. “You don’t have to do that anymore,” she said.

“Do what?” he asked coyly.

“Your wandless magic,” she said, trying not to think about what she was about to do lest she psych herself out. She scooted closer to him on the bench, so close that their legs were touching. Then she tentatively wrapped her hand around his. Her hands were warm thanks to the spell but his were burning up because of it.

“Thank you,” he said, “I may have been straining myself.”

“Yes, well, if they’re going to drag us out here to photograph us acting like a couple, it might be better to act like it. I think this is our second loop.” Severus did not say anything but just nodded at her words.

“I’ve been wondering,” he said at last. “When I was unconscious,” Hermione’s stomach did another somersault, “did you really come read to me every day or was that a fabrication?”

Hermione laughed nervously. “I did, actually. I read you potions journals at first, but when it came closer to your trial, I was reading you old case files so I could be sure I knew what I was talking about. Probably was not very interesting for you.”

“Yes, thank goodness I was asleep then.”

Hermione smiled and he smiled too, widely so that she could see his crooked teeth. He had said making fun of her teeth was “rich coming from him” but she could not care less about them. She knew that “good-looking” teeth was a sign of privilege and nothing more. They did not make him less intelligent or witty or thoughtful.

The thoughtfulness with which he had treated her was like turning a knife in a wound. Sure, he was getting money and a tax break from this arrangement, but that did not mean he actually had to treat her like a friend. If he really only cared about the financial side of things, he would not have invited her to spend time outside of their required meetings.

And how had she repaid him? By still calling him by his last name and keeping her distance. But how was she supposed to know that he actually wanted to have a friendly relationship with her? It was not as if they did not have a history that might make one inclined to believe otherwise.

The only thing she could do was try to do better in the future. That was probably his thought process as well.

“So, are you only going along with this because I saved you?”

“Would it be the wrong thing to say that may have been true at first?”

“No,” Hermione said. “Certainly not. Although if you’re only doing this to resolve a perceived debt… Unfortunately for you, I considered the debt paid when I saved your life since you had saved our asses all those times at school. In fact, I may still be indebted to you.”

“I guess we’re trapped in a never ending cycle of repayment, aren’t we?”

“I guess you could say that, yes.”

They were making their third loop around the invisible track. Hermione was still hyper aware that her fingers were interlaced with his. She could still barely get herself to call him by his first name, even in her head. It still felt too weird. But she would have to get used to it.

“It’s not the worst thing in the world to be able to rely on someone, should you need them.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I suppose that’s what friendship is—constantly paying them back.”

“Yes, and marriage too. We should add that to our vows. ‘From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, I vow to save thine ass,’” Hermione could not believe she was even making mention of their upcoming nuptials, but he— _Severus_ —rewarded her with a hearty laugh.

“And what about when the marriage ends? Then what will happen? Will we still be on the hook?”

Hermione stroked her chin theatrically before saying, “If neither of us finds someone else to save our asses, we can still look out for each other.” She held out her right hand so they could shake on it.

Severus disentangled his right hand from her left, whose warmth Hermione was surprised to find she missed, before shaking. “How about we make this official?” he asked. “Unbreakable Vow?”

Hermione laughed. “No, I trust you.”

“But do I trust you?”

“I don’t know if you should. I am a slippery politician.”

They were nearing the tents once more and Hermione watched as Rolf emerged from the crowd to tend to the horses. Their sleigh slid to a stop. Hermione was about to hop out before Severus rushed to her side to help her down. She appreciated the gesture since the sleigh was high and she was sure the photographers loved it since she was bombarded with flashing lights as soon as he held out his hand to her.

Hermione wanted to thank Severus for all of his help but she was pulled away by the woman in wardrobe. Hermione returned the borrowed coat, scarf, and earmuffs and slid her own hat over the braid. She was pleased to feel her wand in her pocket and walked from the tent.

She looked around for her fiancé and when her eyes finally settled on him he was talking to Phaedra. Hermione had never been the jealous type—well, except maybe with Lavender Brown. Okay, scratch that. Maybe she had always been the jealous type. But seeing them smiling and laughing, ignited something within her.

Then again, why would she be jealous in the first place?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while. October has been very busy and when I wasn't busy, I got sick. As recompense I am adding two chapters at once. Hope you enjoy!

The harsh beeps of her alarm woke Hermione at four on the dot. Normally she had trained herself to hop right out of bed lest she fall back asleep and showed up late to work. But that morning, basking in the red glow of the LED numbers, she could not help but wonder how much longer she could get up this early. Maybe Ginny was right; maybe she was burning out.

She doubted Severus had to get up this early. Although, that first time she had bumped into him, it had been early. Okay, so maybe he liked to get up at this time. Freak, she thought, with a little smile. Or maybe she was the freak for thinking about him at four in the morning. Even if he was also awake right now, she doubted he was thinking of her.

Hermione got up, walked around her apartment looking for her a clean bra, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. While she buttoned up her blouse, she wondered what fresh hell Percy was cooking up for her. Then she tucked her shirt into her pants and double-checked she had no toothpaste residue on her lips before stepping into her loafers.

She skipped down her building stairs into the cold December air. It was still dark but she could see pigeons loitering on the sidewalks. Did Severus’s love of birds extended to those rats with wings?

Hermione had since given up on the coffee shop frequented by ministry employees—she had grown tired of the whispers. So she opted instead to go to the chain on the corner of her block. She cast a warming charm on the coffees, like Severus had done for them, so that poor, pitiable Percy would not have to suffer through drinking lukewarm coffee. Or maybe she could heat it up a little more and he could burn his tongue.

No, she did not hate him so much as to cause her boss bodily harm, she thought as she walked up to the employee entrance of the ministry. Hermione slid into the elevator with other ministry bureaucrats. They barely acknowledged her through their half-lidded, unfocused eyes. As soon as she had selected her stop, she moved to an unoccupied part of the elevator. She knew better than to offer them a “good morning” when they refused to reciprocate. Hermione wished there was a staircase so she wouldn’t have to endure the awkward silence but stairs—beyond the moving kind—were so mundane, so muggle; you wouldn’t be finding those at the ministry.

Hermione exited the elevator and walked to her glass-enclosed office. It was like being in a fishbowl. Something about government visibility or some such metaphor. What was the point though when only she and Percy sat in the glass area? Everything else happened behind solid, mahogany doors.

She sighed when she opened the door into the bullpen. How had she ended up here again? Ever since she had been coerced into this fake marriage, she found her work less and less compelling. But only one month remained. After that, she would be free. And if she—well, they, really—had been successful, she would hopefully be rewarded. 

Blinking off sleep, she opened her planner. When was the last time she had heard from Kingsley? It had been a while. He had yet to thank her for all the hard work. Was she not doing a good job? No, that couldn’t be it. The numbers, as dubious as she found them, still indicated marriages were on the rise. So, maybe he just had been too busy of late to give her a pat on the back.

Percy arrived and she gave him his coffee. He said nothing which she supposed was preferable to something. Still, she would think he had a few words regarding the last government man _date_ , as Severus had called it, even if those words were rude or condescending.

She went through the motions of her work that morning—reading and rereading a document—but none of the information was sticking. Her brain kept wandering off to think about Phaedra and Percy plotting against her or how Severus had looked with his cropped hair.

Before she knew it, it was lunch and she walked outside. On autopilot, her legs almost took her to the usual spot but she stopped herself before she got too close. It really was a damn shame; what Hermione would not give for a pickle at that moment! But she turned around and vowed to walk into the first place she could find that did not look very busy.

She was eating falafel at her desk when an interdepartmental memo landed in front of her. Hermione recognized the beautiful handwriting immediately as Phaedra’s. Apparently she was needed to finalize the guest list. Hermione felt a knot of dread forming in her stomach when she was struck with the beginnings of a good idea. Yes, she could certainly turn this stupid meeting into something of use.

“Good afternoon,” Hermione said, trying to mimic the chipper tone she was used to hearing from her.

“Good afternoon,” she responded, her hands clasped on her desk. If she was surprised at Hermione’s change of tone, she did not show it.

“Have they published any of the photos they took?”

“No, not yet. They are waiting for the perfect day to do it. If you want, I can send over some of the proofs when I get them.”

“Would you? That would be so nice! I can add them to my scrapbook.” Phaedra laughed. Hermione had, of course, intended it to be a joke—why would she want to save mementos for an event that she would be more than happy to forget?

Although—she felt the thought creeping up her spine—depending on how it ended, it might be fun to look back on what happened. Especially if she and Snape remained friends. Maybe then her joke would not have to remain a joke.

“So,” Hermione began, “we’re here to hammer out the guest list.”

“Yes, exactly. Have you put some thought into it?”

It was Hermione’s turn to laugh. “Somewhat. Though I think you already know who to invite.”

“Percy and I may already have a tentative list.”

“And I’m not allowed to invite any of my muggle relatives?”

“Right. Just your parents,” Phaedra said with a note of regret.

“It’s alright. I hate them anyway,” Hermione said dryly. That was not entirely untrue.

Phaedra snorted. “And what friends? Sorry, only magical friends, of course.”

Hermione had been prepared for this. “I was thinking Ginny and Harry.” She hoped that Phaedra had no idea that they were no longer in touch.

“Naturally,” Phaedra said, betraying nothing.

“And the Hogwarts professors…” There was no reason that her former teachers would hate her. She had always been a favorite, right? Except with Severus, of course, but he had to attend.

“Yes, about that. Severus and I have been in touch.” Hermione quirked an eyebrow like her fiancé. Oh, she had been _in touch_ with _Severus_. Whatever that meant. “He had wanted some of his male colleagues to be in the wedding party.”

“Wonderful. Certainly,” Hermione said, probably visibly relieved that that’s all they had been talking about.

“And, I think he waited to tell you himself, but… he asked that the wedding be held at Hogwarts. I told him that would not be hard to arrange since the ministry essentially controls the school.” Hermione could have burst out laughing. She would love to see Phaedra try to tell that to Minerva McGonagall. “And the wedding will take place during the winter holiday so there won’t be too many students to relocate.”

Hermione wondered if Severus had asked to have the ceremony at Hogwarts for himself or for her. In any case, she was extremely pleased with this development. She had wondered where it would take place since neither she nor Severus were very religious.

“And is there a date planned?”

“January ninth, I believe.” Phaedra flipped through her notebook. “Yes, that’s right. The second Friday of January.”

“You know, Phaedra, you’ve been such a help. Will you be in attendance?”

“I might be doing things here and there, making sure things go smoothly.”

“Well, that’s too bad. I had hoped you might agree to be one of my bridesmaids. I have so few female friends, you see.”

“That is so sweet of you, Hermione. But I couldn’t accept.”

“Are you sure? I mean, after all you’ve done for me, you’re basically my maid of honor. And I can finally meet your fiancé.” Before that point, Phaedra had remained calm and collected. But at the mention of her fiancé, Hermione could see that poise slip. “Unless I meet him at the office Christmas party first,” she added, digging the knife in a little deeper.

“He was not planning on going to the Christmas party,” Phaedra said, crossing and uncrossing her legs under her desk. Because Percy would be there? Hermione thought. “And I was not planning on bringing him to your wedding either.”

“Oh?” Hermione frowned slightly. “Because I don’t know him? I hardly think that should deter him. I would think that the people I actually do know will be in the minority.”

“I’ll bring it up with him,” Phaedra said, which Hermione could see was a lie. Maybe she did not want her personal life to mix with her work life since the two could not coexist peacefully?

“And I was also thinking of inviting Luna Lovegood and Rolf Scamander. Do you know him? He was at the photoshoot.”

If Phaedra Chapman could have gotten whiter, Hermione thought she would be translucent. What had she said? Was _Rolf_ Phaedra’s fiancé? That did not make sense. Or did it?

“Percy was just telling me…” Phaedra looked like she was at a loss for words. “I don’t think he will want Luna Lovegood at the wedding.”

What? It was her wedding. Why would Percy have anything against Luna? Unless there was a weird love triangle going on. Bizarre. She could not wait to fill Severus in. 

“Well, it’s not Percy’s decision.” On the one hand, Hermione did kind of want her old friend at the wedding. And on the other hand, she hoped by pressing that she would get more information.

Phaedra squirmed. “I don’t know if I’m the clearance to tell you.”

“Alright,” Hermione said, standing up. “I’ll just have to ask him myself. Thank you again for your help and I hope maybe you’ll consider joining my bridesmaids.”

* * *

Severus was at the local muggle library by his house, browsing their gardening section. It was far from planting season, but that did not mean he could not get a head start on planning what he would do when it arrived. Every year he got more and more ambitious about what he wanted to accomplish in his gardens.

He was flipping through a book on composting, wondering if he could produce enough food scraps on his own. He also wondered if composting the green waste from his magical greenhouse would have an adverse effect on his non-magical garden. Someone really ought to do a study on that. Perhaps he could ask Pomona to co-author a paper with him on the subject.

Except, he remembered, she had retired. Longbottom had been hand-picked by Pomona to be her replacement. The boy had always had an affinity for herbology, or so he had heard. Whenever Severus had complained about Longbottom in staff meetings, Pomona had always been the first to defend him, saying he was better-suited to the slower, more relaxed study of plants.

Severus wondered if Longbottom would be present at the wedding. Since not only was he among the Hogwarts staff—all of whom were invited by him, but he was also a friend of Hermione’s. But Severus had not been particularly kind to the boy, so was not sure if Longbottom would find an excuse to get out of it. Severus certainly would in his situation. But he was not very fond of weddings in the first place.

Thinking of the wedding brought his attention back to his fiancée. Their next date would be ice skating, something which Severus had no idea how to do. He looked around the shelves, tucking the compost book under his arm to checkout later. He was already in the non-fiction section; he could see if they had any books about ice skating. Though he doubted how helpful a book would be at teaching him a motor skill.

Nevertheless, he found himself in the sports section, looking for books on ice skating. His eyes landed on a book with a yellow spine on which “Ice Skating for Dummies” was written in big letters. He slid the book from the shelf and flipped through the pages, which did seem to contain many detailed diagrams and drawings. He returned to the front and read the table of contents. The later chapters looked like much more technical stuff but he could probably get through the earlier chapters by the government mandate. Severus chuckled to himself. He still found that joke incredibly amusing, which he knew was lame, considering it was his own.

At the front counter Severus checked out the compost and ice skating books and was surprised that the librarian did not make a face at him. Though he supposed she must be used to people checking out weird stuff, especially considering how many people Severus regularly saw in the romance section. Not that he was trying to judge. There was something for everyone at this library.

Severus thanked the librarian and walked home, thinking the whole way of how best to practice ice skating. He supposed he could find a nearby rink but he thought his pride probably could not take the bruising of falling down while children gleefully skated around him. Severus wondered if he could somewhere make his own rink—he was a wizard after all—and bruise only his bum from the safety of his home and leave his ego somewhat intact.

While he chopped carrots, potatoes, and leeks, Severus thought about the logistics of building an ice rink. He should probably not do it outside since his muggle neighbors would wonder how he had gotten it up so fast. That left Severus with an indoor rink only. He did still have the spare room. He could move the bookshelves and desk and fill the room with ice and then freeze it. But surely that would not be good for his hardwood floors?

Of course, he might be able to put down a magical buffer of some sorts to protect the floor and the wall from water damage. But then he would still need ice skates of some sorts. He looked at the ice skating book while he ate his dinner. Skates appeared to be just boots with knives—albeit rather dull ones—on the bottom. Severus had old boots to which he could stick some transfigured butter knives to.

After dinner he set about his task transfiguring the knives into a similar shape as what he saw in the book. He was unsure about the thickness of the skates so he had to guess. Really, though, no thickness seemed like it could easily support his weight. He was supposed to balance himself on little strips of metal? It did not seem physically possible. And yet muggles were doing it all of the time.

Finally he had reached a prototype which he was somewhat pleased with. The book recommended getting the skates tight around your feet to prevent wobbliness. Severus tied his laces as tight as his circulation would allow him but he also had put on a thick pair of knitted socks Albus had given him. Maybe that old man was good for something after all, he thought with a wry smile.

But soon it was readily apparent that he had made a mistake. Sometimes he was quite clever and sometimes he seemed to lack all sense entirely. How was he supposed to get to the room, which was upstairs? He was not even sure he could stand up. Severus slowly lifted himself to his feet and wobbled a bit before placing a cushioning charm around the makeshift skates. The knives were dull but they could still do some damage on his floors. The realtor had waxed poetic about the hardwood floors but to Severus they seemed now to be more trouble than they were worth.

Severus managed, with no small difficulty, to get himself up the stairs, gripping the banister the whole time. But even though he had reached his destination, there was still the problem of setting up his rink. Leaning against the wall outside the spare room, he cleared the contents of the room into the hall and set down a protective charm which he hoped would be water-tight. Then he summoned some water into the room with an _Aguamenti_ before cooling the room down significantly.

Unfortunately for Severus, however, the ice did not melt as he had hoped. It was cracked in some places and not at all smooth. He must have cooled the room down too rapidly and that caused the uneven ice. Severus sighed. He would need to attack this from a different angle.

Should he just start over? His arm was getting tired from leaning and his legs were growing uncomfortable in their current, awkward position. He did not have all the time in the world to figure this out; he had to be up bright and early for work the next day.

Suddenly he had another idea. Liquids filled the space of their container. Maybe he had frozen too much water at first, but maybe if he added water little by little, it would freeze evenly over the uneven sections and not crack.

He gave it a go, adding a tiny sheet of water each time. It also did not take as much magic to freeze each new layer since the existing sheet of ice was doing a good keeping the room cold. And soon enough he had a smooth surface on which to skate. He steadied himself on the doorframe and lifted—the ice was rather high at this point—his left leg. Severus took a tentative step onto the ice but so far, he was still upright. Then he brought the right foot to join the left.

Severus was keeping himself up by gripping both sides of the door frame for dear life. He shook a bit and knew he could not stand there forever, not only because he did not have the strength but also because he could not learn standing like that. He gently slid his left foot out in front of him, followed by the right, and slowly let his arms fall to his sides. He took another step, then another, finally letting go fully. He beamed, proud of himself. And then he promptly fell on his ass.

Oh, well, he thought, he still had more days of practice ahead of him. Fortunately, it took a little more than a couple of bruises to get Severus Snape to give up. If he had retained any trait throughout his entire life, it was his unrelenting stubbornness.


	16. Chapter 16

The day for the second government-mandated date had arrived and it would be taking place at a regular, run-of-the-mill, muggle ice rink. There were magical ice rinks of course, tucked into nooks and crannies of magical communities, but, once again, the two of them were much too recognizable to be among the common folk. They were celebrities, as Percy was so fond of reminding them. 

If Hermione hated that fact, she could not imagine how Mr. Clearly-Fame-Isn’t-Everything must be taking it. Then again, she hardly ever heard him complain. Why did he never complain? Was it really because he was trying to pay her back for saving him? She almost wished he would complain. Then she would not feel so much like she was exploiting that act of kindness.

This time they were getting ready away from the shoot location because, while they could easily hide themselves through magic, it was easier to just not do a lot of magic around muggles. Also the part of the ministry that monitored that magic used in front of muggles was so far removed from this Marriage Law chicanery that it was better not to have to explain what they were doing.

Hermione watched him approach from their waiting spot— _their_ spot, certainly weird that they had a spot—and saw his freshly-cropped hair once more. A fresh wave of guilt overtook her. She still did not know why he had done it, whether he had been asked to or had asked himself, but she hated herself for it.

How much would he change for this stupid façade? How much could she ask him to change for her? It also begged the question of how much she was losing of herself if he was being forced to change.

Severus smiled so sweetly at her as he drew closer, another punch in the gut. She winced slightly but it must have been subtle because Severus did not seem to notice and the two were joined on their walk inside by their usual silence.

She had wondered if maybe things would be different between them after their last… encounter, but how could she expect anything except weirdness? This whole situation was weird and it permeated every aspect of their “relationship.”

After they had been prepped—Hermione’s hair had been temporarily straightened—Phaedra gathered the two of them together and extended the portkey to them. It was a piece of paper as the previous one had been, but it was also significantly smaller so they would have to hold hands if they were both going to touch it. The gesture was becoming less and less nerve-racking but Hermione could not help wonder if Phaedra had done this on purpose.

Hermione wrapped her fingers around the paper and held her hand out to Severus who gently took it in his own. All the while she was staring at Phaedra, wondering when the portkey would activate, grateful her sweaty fingers were underneath. Her racing heart was counting down the minutes until they would disappear in a flurry of limbs and winter gear. But Phaedra just stared back, a puzzled look on her face, followed by the dawning of realization. 

“Oh, I am afraid that is _not_ a portkey,” Phaedra said, giving them a nervous laugh. “The hairdressers and stylists would hardly forgive me if I messed up their work through a portkey.”

Severus released his grip from Hermione’s hand, his absence felt immediately. She was getting used to his warm fingers against her perennially cold ones, which was far from ideal. Hermione uncrumpled the paper, damp from perspiration, and scanned its contents. It was directions to their destination. Hermione knew the rink in question and knew this route would take the scenic way, probably meant to conceal that they had left from the ministry.

“So, are we supposed to stay hidden?” Hermione asked, reading between the lines. Lately she had not gone anywhere without the protection of a disillusionment charm.

“Well,” Phaedra began, “would it be the worst thing if people saw you two outside of the papers?”

Hermione wanted to shake her head “no,” tell Phaedra that she was not keen on being ogled, but she kept her features even. She did not know how much they could trust Phaedra’s intentions but part of her did still trust her ability to do her job. If Hermione could somehow convince the world that she loved Severus then maybe she could also convince Kingsley that she was the best choice for his replacement. Or at least earn some sort of praise from him!

Severus remained quiet beside her. She knew that he hated this even more than her but as per his usual _modus operandi_ , he did not complain. Hermione had to wonder how long his patience would last but she was also smart enough not to push her limits. Unless, of course, the ministry forced her too. Merlin, she could hardly bear to think of it.

“Right,” Phaedra said, probably taking their silence as assent, “are you ready?”

She and Severus began following their directions, which even included leaving from a rarely-used exit from the ministry. They had started out a few feet apart but as they walked, they neared ever closer until their shoulders were almost touching. Once more they had not given them gloves so when their fingers made brief contact, Hermione took his hand into her own.

“Have to keep up appearances,” she explained, sounding utterly unconvincing. Hermione was still staring straight ahead but she heard him murmur an “mm-hmm.” Since he did not protest her touch, she felt her courage returning, reminded of the last time they had done this. “You know, I should probably tell you I don’t know how to ice skate.”

Severus stopped walking and she was forced to look at his face. He was giving her the most incredulous look. “What?” she asked, smiling, which coaxed out his own smile.

“You suggested ice skating when you don’t even know how to do it?”

“It wasn’t my idea. It was Phaedra’s.”

“And you didn’t think to check if I was able? What if we had both been unable?”

Hermione laughed. “And wouldn’t that be a sight to see? Maybe we’d do such a bad job that they’d stop making us go on these dates.” She looked at him again, trying to see how this idea affected him. After their last date, despite its artificiality, she was surprised at how much she was looking forward to the next one, which terrified her. Part of her—the masochistic part, she supposed—wanted to know if he was starting to like them as much as she had. But his face remained a mask. She did not know if that was what she had wanted to see or not.

* * *

“So, does that mean you can do it?” Hermione asked while he was still trying to hide his disappointment. He could not afford to show how much their time together meant to him especially when she seemed so blasé about it.

Severus shrugged. “I am not particularly graceful, but I can get myself around.” That had been his only goal. He knew it would have been too presumptuous to assume he could do any better within a week.

Hermione snorted. “What a Severus answer.” He hated how much he loved it when she made that noise and he hated even more how much he loved it when she said his name.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You’re so modest. That’s why I knew I didn’t need to ask you if you could skate. You can do _everything_.”

In that moment Severus was wishing his hair was just a bit longer so that it would hide the blood he could feel pulsing through his ears. Despite a lifetime of hard work, he was unaccustomed to hearing praise and he was ill-equipped to hide how much it pleased him to hear it coming from her.

“I’m telling the truth. I’m really not very good.” Should he tell her the reality of the situation, that he had only just learned? Or would that make him seem too eager?

“Alright, maybe you are telling the truth. But you will still seem much better than me in comparison. Perhaps it will be more endearing that way, to see me struggle so.”

They arrived at the rink after which their instructions were to get their skates and go. Hermione noticed some of the photographers milling about. There were enough people around that their actions were not too suspect and with their cameras transfigured to look like modern digital cameras, they did not look any different from the parents snapping pictures of their children. Still, Hermione hoped that no one would think to make sure the photographers had children of their own and not think that they were some kind of creeps.

They ordered their sizes—she made a mental note of Severus’s, though she was not sure why—and they sat down beside each other on benches to put them on. She had worn boots before so obviously she knew how to lace them but when Severus saw her handiwork he made a face she could not quite parse.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t want to be that guy—”

“What guy?”

“The kind of guy who tells you that you’re doing everything wrong.”

Oh, that guy, Hermione thought. Hermione was used to that kind of guy.

“Well since you told me I’ve done something wrong, I want to know what it is,” she teased. Hermione knew Severus well enough at this point to know that he was well-intentioned. “Or you don’t want me to accuse you of being a know-it-all?”

“You’re going to want your skates tighter than that—any looser and you’ll wobble and will be more likely to fall.”

“Alright,” Hermione said. Hardly believing her boldness she stuck her leg out to him. “If you’re such a know-it-all, why don’t you do it for me.”

Severus also looked like he could not believe what she had just done but obliged nevertheless. At first she was pleased that she had asked for his help but that pleasure quickly faded when she felt how tight he was pulling the laces.

“Are you trying to cut off circulation to my foot?” Hermione asked when he was finished and she had removed her right foot from his knee. He still had to do the left one.

“Just trust me,” he said. Severus did not even wait for her to hand over her other foot. Severus bent over to gingerly place it over his knees. At this point, Hermione was not sure if they were doing this all for the cameras or if, like her, he had begun to enjoy their little exchanges.

She doubted that someone like Severus Snape would ever enjoy touching another person but maybe he was just as lonely as her. In fact, she had not realized how lonely she had been these past couple of months until he had touched her. The realization was disquieting and Hermione shivered despite herself.

“Cold?” Severus asked with a smile, misinterpreting her body language. Hermione’s leg was still draped over his even though he had finished with her skate.

“Yes,” she lied. The lie killed her to tell but what else could she say to him? I like it when you touch me and I have a sneaking suspicion you like it too but I am afraid this can only end badly? No, definitely not.

“Do you want my coat?” he asked, already shrugging it off his shoulders. Hermione considered his offer for a moment. It would be a wonderful photo-op but he was only wearing a shirt underneath. Besides, she was not even actually cold. And her decision-making should not only be defined by what was likely to sell the most magazines. 

“No!” she said rather hastily. “I mean—I’m sure I’ll feel a lot warmer once we start moving.” At that, Hermione stood up. She had misjudged how sturdy she would feel when she did so and immediately lost her balance. But Severus reached out and stopped her from falling onto the people sitting on the bench beside them.

Hermione was acutely aware of his scent—earthy, herbal, and masculine—and how easily his arms held her. Although he did not look it, he must have been fairly strong. But that was not surprising considering how nothing was as it seemed with him.

She chanced a glance at him and saw that he too was now conscious of their proximity. Hermione could hear the hitch in his breath, watched his pupils dilate. They looked at each other a beat longer, both waiting for the other to act. In the end, Hermione decided that she had better move first, try to right herself, so when he finally let her go, she would not topple over again.

Severus took the hint when he felt her writhe in his arms and worked to set her standing straight up-and-down once more. Once he was satisfied that she would not fall, he moved a step away. Hermione watched him try to school his embarrassment into his usual stoicism. He lost this battle when she grabbed his hand.

“In case I lose my balance again,” she explained. “Although I can’t promise I won’t pull you down with me.”

* * *

Severus could hear his heart pounding in his ears, could feel his pulse quicken. The stupid ministry had taken his gloves and he was sure his hand would be a total swamp in hers. Sweat would also do them no good in this frigid air, so he tried breathing deeply and slowly and push down these feelings behind his mental barrier.

They had begun their slow trek to the rink, Hermione taking tentative steps beside him. Her own apprehension palpable through their linked hands. So much for Gryffindor courage, he thought.

As if she could read his thoughts, Hermione said quietly, “I suppose you must think it’s out of character for me to be nervous. But I have always been anxious about anything that requires coordination. Like flying for example.”

Severus nodded sympathetically. He had never been scared of flying but he was certainly terrified of other things.

But they had finally reached the rink before he could commiserate with Hermione. He held her tighter while she lifted her right foot onto the ice. She wobbled a little but still she remained upright while her left one joined it.

“Okay,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Now what do I do?”

There was an annoyed child behind them trying to make his way onto the ice which Severus should have anticipated. Still, he held his ground; the child could wait.

“Just slide a foot forward. There you go. Now the other one.”

They were slow-going at first but the annoyed child was able to pass them, along with other children who seemed hell-bent on going too fast and spraying everybody else with ice shavings when they stopped. Severus did not mind as long as they did not trip up Hermione who was currently staring at her feet.

Besides for the children, there were a couple other sweethearts holding hands, smiling, and laughing clouds of condensation.

“I’m sorry I’m not more graceful,” Hermione apologized.

“Oh, no, you needn’t worry. It is just nice to be out here with—” Severus stopped himself. He did not know if he should say “with you.” So he said, “the beautiful lights.” This was not a complete lie. Whoever had strung the lights in the surrounding trees had done a wonderful job.

“This is probably a bad sign for our first dance, isn’t it?”

At first, Severus was not sure what she had meant by “first dance,” but then he realized that must have meant their first dance as a couple. “Why? I can teach you, you know. I mean… only if you need a teacher.” He had not realized they would be dancing together as a couple in front of all those people and the idea terrified him. But maybe, since they would be dancing together, it would not be so bad.

Hermione looked at him which caused her to wobble a little bit. Her look of surprise morphed into a rather devious smile. “Why would I think that you wouldn’t excel at that as well?”

“I don’t think I ex—”

“Enough of this false modesty! You’re worse than me and my apologizing.”

“I’m just saying, you know how Minerva taught you how to dance for the Yule Ball? Well, she had to teach me so I could teach the Slytherins. I hardly count coaching randy teenagers to not step on each other’s toes counts as ‘exceling.’”

“You had to teach the Slytherins to dance!?”

“Of course. Who else was going to do it? Filch. No, it’s the duty of the heads of houses.”

Their pace had quickened by Hermione got used to the motions of sliding her feet across the ice. “Phaedra told me that you asked to have the wedding at Hogwarts.” Severus braced himself. Would Hermione be angry at him for going behind her back? She might claim to be totally uninterested in the whole process but surely she would want in a say in that. “I am kind of mad you thought of it before me. It’s perfect really.”

Severus exhaled the breath he did not know he had been keeping inside. Still, he had know idea how to respond. What was there to say? “I figured you would absolutely despise the school after all that has happened, but you don’t, do you?” she asked. Severus must have made a face because she added, “Oh, sorry, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

Severus shook his head. “No. You’re right. But it’s more the people rather than the school itself. But it is a complicated relationship. I certainly can think of more unhappy memories than happy ones. Still, I thought it just made sense, especially considering Phaedra’s theming.” And I thought it might make you happy, he wanted to add.

“Yes,” Hermione said, “maybe Phaedra had planned this all along and was waiting for one of us to ask permission to host it there. Speaking of which, I tried to get Phaedra to bring her fiancé along to the wedding but she refused. I figured as much, but then I tried to invite Luna—Luna Lovegood—and she said Percy would not like that and get this, she did not think she was allowed to tell me! What the hell? What does that even mean?”

Severus shrugged. “Miss Lovegood is the editor in chief for the _Quibbler_ , is she not? Maybe she has been openly vocal about her dislike of her law.”

“Damn,” Hermione said with a laugh. “I was thinking there was some kind of romantic drama going on but your answer makes so much more sense.”

“Well, Miss Chapman did word her answer oddly. It’s not like you need permission to go out and buy a copy of the newspaper and read it yourself.”

“Then I suppose I will have to do that now, won’t I?” Hermione looked up at him. It was a simple gesture but it still jumbled up his insides. “What about you? What have you found out?”

“Not much I am afraid,” he responded. But he also had not really thought about it since their last discussion; he had much more important things occupying his thoughts. Severus looked at her conspiratorially. “I can tail Miss Chapman if you want.”

Hermione laughed. “No, nothing illegal. Just keep an ear to the ground, as it were.”

Despite their closeness, Severus did not know if he could get any more information from Todd. The man was downright cagey when it came to his sister, which only made him more curious which sordid secrets he was keeping. Severus would have to rely on his observations and make deductions from there.

“Do you think you could teach me?” Hermione asked, interrupting Severus’s thoughts.

“Hm?” he responded. “How to spy on people?”

“No, sorry, I could see how you might think I meant that.” She was looking at her feet again despite being much more confident. “Dancing, I mean.”

“Oh,” he replied. Realizing how disappointed he must have sounded, he added, “Just name a time and a place.”

“I think my apartment is too small so we’ll have to do it at yours.”

 _That_ had actually disappointed Severus for some reason. Maybe because she still had invited him to see her apartment, despite having been to his house multiple times. But it was not the end of the world if he did not see where she lived? It was not like the relationship was unequal—it was not even real!

“We’ll have to move around the furniture but I still think we can do it.” If he did not put the bookshelves back into his study, they could even do it in there.

“Thank you. That is incredibly kind of you. I can promise you it will be no easy feat.”

“It’s no trouble at all. What are friends for?” Hermione’s face fell, but it was such a subtle gesture that only someone like him would have been able to perceive it. Severus wondered what he must have said to cause that response in her. He was tempted to ask her when he saw her focus go elsewhere.

“That was the signal,” she said. “They got what they needed.” They walked off the rink to the benches under the bare trees strung with fairy lights. But instead of sitting down to unlace her skates, Hermione remained standing. Severus followed suit.

They were silent. Severus was not sure how to fill it. He stared at the buttons on the pea coat the stylists had given Hermione to wear for a second time.

“You’re on your way to becoming an Olympic figure skater,” Severus said. He had decided on a lighthearted joke to get the conversation flowing again.

“Gold medalist?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. Like him, he realized later.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe silver.” Hermione laughed which filled his belly with warmth. He loved making her laugh.

“Look at that,” Hermione said, pointing at something in the trees. But Severus did not see what she was indicating to because he was too distracted by their shoulders brushing. He looked down at her and could see a gold necklace he had not noticed before reflecting the lights.

He looked into her face and saw that she was staring back at him. Severus reddened, realizing where he was looking was hardly appropriate. He was about to explain that he was definitely not doing what she thought he was but then he noticed the way she was looking at him. Like she was only looking at him.

Time was moving too fast. He had no proof, only the touch of their shoulders and the way her eyes drifted to his lips, but in that moment, it felt like enough. After the fact he might think it was a mistake, but for once he let go and took a small step closer to her. He leaned his head down and he could have sworn that her body language mirrored his.

Severus was hardly an expert in this field but at this point he had closed his eyes and he was moving on instinct. Their lips met. Severus was filled with warmth once more. He brought his hands into her hair and she deepened the kiss. Just when he thought he might spend the rest of his life like this, he felt her pull away. He opened his eyes to see a sheepish Hermione.

“Sorry, I forgot there were children here.”

Severus let out an awkward bark of a laugh. “But there are also photographers.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Hermione said, sitting down finally. Severus could not read her expression since she was bending over to untie her laces.

“You stay there. I’ll get our shoes.” He could feel his adrenaline pulsing. Had she not wanted him to kiss her? He should have asked permission beforehand. What if no photographers had actually captured the moment? What then?

When he returned to the bench, Severus handed Hermione her tiny boots. After Hermione had finished getting her boots back on, Severus thought she was so mad at him that she would leave without another word. But she came back from returning her skates with a strange look on her face.

“We still have another date before the wedding,” she said, her hands stuffed into her pockets. “And I’ll, er, send you an owl to iron out a time for our dance lessons. Oh, and I’m sure you’ll be expected to join the office Christmas party.” She chewed her lip. “Sorry about that.”

She looked like she was about to leave but he would do anything to get her to stay, if only for a little bit longer. “And what day is the wedding? Do you know yet?”

“The first Friday in January. Or no, the second Friday in January. I don’t remember the exact date though.”

After saying their goodbyes, Severus walked a reasonable distance from the rink and disapparated. It was late and he needed to be in bed but every cell in his body seemed to be radiating their own nervous energy so sleep seemed impossible at that moment. Pacing in his kitchen, he noticed the calendar he had hanging on his wall. He flipped to the last page which combined the first four months of the upcoming year. He looked at January and the second Friday—the ninth. His birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... oops


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry about my absence! I was busy all November with NaNoWriMo but thanks to holiday and family stuff I didn't even reach 50,000 :( Oh, well. I got to 40,000, which was 40,000 more words than what I already had written :)

_Marriage Law or Marriage Lie?_

The Quibbler _Editorial Team_

_At this point our readers are intimately aware of the so-called “marriage law” that was passed and the success story touted by the current administration but what may be less apparent is that the love story is pure fabrication, according to an anonymous source._

_This source has told_ the Quibbler _that the “relationship” between Hermione Granger and Severus Snape was created by the Ministry to sell the public on the efficacy of the law as well as to distract from the Ministry’s own devious dealings. Not only have the couple in question not been in contact since the end of the war but are reportedly barely even friends. Although, such is to be expected, as multiple classmates of Miss Granger have told_ the Quibbler _that Mr. Snape was none too fond of her in the classroom, having repeatedly called her names and insulted her._

_And why would Mr. Snape, whose love for Lily Potter had been the driving force in his defecting to the light, fall for someone whom he had taught as a child and found a nuisance? Suspicious, to say the least._

The Quibbler _has reached out to St. Mungo’s to verify the story that Miss Granger was a frequent visitor of Mr. Snape’s, but the hospital refused to comment, citing “physician-patient privilege.” In any case, the editorial team has reason to believe that this part was not entirely fabricated, but may have been heavily embellished._

 _We, the members of_ the Quibbler _Editorial Team, advise their readers to consider all of the facts. What makes more sense: a notoriously ornery man fell in love with a noted sycophant former student or two, very different, and seemingly incompatible people were strong-armed into the arrangement?_

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Percy asked when Hermione had finished reading.

Hermione gently set the paper down on his desk. What did she have to say for herself? Nothing! How was any of this her fault? “It’s just a tabloid, Mr. Weasley. They publish stuff like this all the time. The other, respectable,” Hermione cringed when she said this, “publications are all following the Ministry’s messaging.” 

“I am less concerned about what they are publishing and more concerned about who is telling them this. It seems like we have a mole among us,” Percy said, looking at her pointedly.

“And, what? You think that’s me?” Hermione doubted there actually was such a person. It was not as if _the Quibbler_ was publishing anything that people might already suspect. They might have just made up the anonymous source to lend credence to their claims.

“You are a known associate of Miss Lovegood.”

“So, what?” In truth, Hermione had not seen Luna in months, but she was sure Percy did not care about that fact. “Her _boyfriend_ was at the photoshoot. Maybe he’s the mole.” But immediately after having said that she felt guilty deflecting the blame onto Rolf. Hermione had not met him many times, but he did not seem the type to get involved in such matters, despite his relationship to Luna.

“Mr. Scamander has been sworn to secrecy. You, however, have not.”

Hermione did not have to worry about Rolf getting falsely blamed anyway. Percy was out for blood and from her alone. 

“Then swear me to secrecy!” she said, practically throwing her arms in the air. It was not something she wanted, but she would do it if it placated him. But she was not sure anything would at this point.

“That will hardly stop leaks that have already happened.” Hermione’s intuition had been correct. He was not going to listen to her. He was just going to yell at her.

“But why would I do it? I may have the means but I don’t have a motive,” Hermione argued in vain. But maybe if she kept defending herself and refusing to yield, he would eventually get bored and leave her alone.

“You were vocal of your disapproval of the law before it was passed. And it is obvious you do not wish to marry Snape.”

“That’s funny because just the other week you were accusing me of sleeping with him. So which is it? Would I be so opposed if that were the case?”

“I don’t pretend to understand your logic. Perhaps you are just opposed to marriage altogether. The marriage rate among muggles is on the decline…”

Hermione had to push that blatant slight against her parentage aside. “Do you doubt my commitment? I thought I was doing a good job. You told me I was convincing.” They kissed for heaven’s sake! Didn’t he know that?

“Yes, well, because of this, you will have to be more convincing. I’ve gone through the trouble of arranging you to give an interview about just how in love you are.”

Hermione suppressed an urge to groan. “Alright, what time is the interview? So I can tell Snape?” It felt odd to go back to his surname, if only for a moment.

Percy looked at her like she was stupid before laughing. “He will not be participating. He is not the one who needs to convince me that he is dedicated to the cause.”

Oh, Hermione understood this quite well. This was a punishment not a propaganda tactic. “Well, will I be given a list of questions ahead of time so I can prepare?” She had helped to prepare Kingsley’s answers in the past.

Percy laughed again. “What kind of interview do you think this is? They’re going to be softballs, Hermione. Don’t get yourself worked up about it.”

“Alright,” she said, returning to her desk. Hermione fumed silently to herself. What was it? Was it a big deal or not?

But Hermione could not spend very long thinking about it because she had other responsibilities. She had to wonder if these mind games were all part of Percy’s plan to impede her. Why did she have to work in these conditions? It was a miracle she got anything done.

She sincerely doubted there was a mole. Luna was smart, despite what other people might think of her; she could have figured this out. Not to mention the fact that she was suspicious of the Ministry to begin with—something she had made abundantly clear when Hermione had first agreed to take the job. But if there was a mole, there were plenty of other people who could’ve told her. Ginny and Harry both knew.

And there was the possibility that Severus had told _the Quibbler_. Maybe he wanted out after their kiss. But he had been the one to kiss her, hadn’t he? Or had he done it just because there were cameras around? Maybe he thought she was indicating that she wanted it. She had been staring at him. He had looked so much like an angel underneath those lights that it was hard not to. It was entirely possible that it had all been a misunderstanding. It was all so confusing and relationships were confusing enough for her as it was. Trust a fake relationship to only muddle things further. 

Percy did not need to come up with elaborate schemes to keep her mind occupied—she was doing a fine job of that on her own. The only thing she was sure of was that Severus wanted to be her friend. She could take some comfort in that. And whatever feelings she may have been feeling—though they were likely born out of her confusion—she could take comfort in that. Right? Why was she making this so difficult?

* * *

They had not spoken to each other since the fateful day of the kiss and their third and final date was drawing closer. Severus had yet to hear from Hermione about their dance lessons either. Not that he minded—not really. Perhaps he should go to Minerva to get a refresher. No, despite her apparent approval of the marriage—she had agreed to let the wedding take place at Hogwarts after all—Severus still felt weird parading the relationship with their golden girl in front of his colleagues. He supposed if that was the case then he should have never suggested Hogwarts as the venue. But he was sure it would make Hermione happy and based on her response, it seemed it had.

Perhaps he could pop over to the library and get out a book on ballroom dancing. Or maybe he could take a couple turns about his still empty (but de-iced spare room) with a mannequin.

Severus was trying to get some reading done but his mind kept returning to her, to their kiss, and how he had probably spoiled everything. She probably did not want to see him again, which is why she had not brought up the dance lessons. 

And yet they still had their last date to look forward to. Would he be receiving any guidance on what to buy Hermione or was he just going to buy her a book? He would not hate for that to be the case. Which was worse? Giving a gift you bought yourself or being forced to give a gift? He supposed he could give her a personal gift in addition to the one they gave her.

Why was he thinking about this again? He needed to be sleeping. But lately all of his thoughts had been occupied with her. Running over that kiss again and again in his mind, wondering if he shouldn’t have done it. He knew—Merlin, did he know—this exercise was fruitless, but he could not help himself. He was tired and needed to be at work the following day but like clockwork his mind went back to her.

He wondered what Hermione was doing now. She probably had to go to bed early and would not be thinking of him. Was she also worried about the gift? She had told him that she was a terrible gift giver. He would gladly accept a book from her, however. In fact, he would treasure anything she gave him, even a dung bomb.

Severus sighed. He had known he was a sad sap but his willingness to accept anything from her was proof of that. He knew he loved too eagerly but what was he supposed to do when he had received so little of it in his lifetime? He knew the risk—Lily had seen to that—but he thought it might be worth it. Just for a little bit of happiness.

At work the next morning Severus was groggily going over his list of potions for the day. People must have been growing bored of trying to get a glimpse of him because wart cream was not on the list. Finally he had more complicated orders to fill. He should have been careful what he had wished for though because now he was almost too tired to do anything that required brain power.

Severus had completed three orders when the tinkle of bells told him Todd had arrived. Severus chucked off his apron and walked into the other room.

“Good morning,” he said with uncharacteristic cheeriness. Todd gave him an odd look. He could tell something was afoot.

“Good morning, sir,” Todd said, hanging up his coat on the back of the room. “Can I, uh, help you with anything?”

“I was just wondering what you would like for Christmas.”

“What I would like for Christmas?”

“Yes,” Severus said, trying his best smile. “I am going out today so I thought I would maybe get you something you actually like.” Severus strategically left out that part that he was going out as part of a press event. “And don’t worry. You will still get your bonus.”

“Oh… um. I don’t know. I mean, I have everything I need.”

“That’s fair,” Severus said. He could relate to the feeling. He had also never known how to respond when someone had asked what he wanted. “Well, if you think of something, I can always get it at another time.” Severus paused. Now was his chance to dig for more information. “When are you taking off by the way?”

“I wasn’t planning on taking any time off.”

“Oh,” was all Severus could say.

“Things are getting a little testy at home and I don’t want to suffer through that.”

“You can still take time off though.”

Todd shrugged. “Whatever days you’ll be here. I’ll be here.”

Severus felt a pang of guilt. He could not help but feel like this was his fault. If only he could speak to Phaedra on behalf of Todd and smooth things over. He doubted that would actually solve the problem but he wished it would. No one deserved to be alone on the holidays.

Perhaps Severus could invite Todd over for Christmas dinner. Although if he was spending the day with Hermione… no, nothing had been planned for that day and he was sure she would want to have dinner at her parents’ place. But Severus was not going ask him just yet. Perhaps things between him and Phaedra would smooth out before then.

But then would Severus spend the day by himself? Well, it certainly would not be the first time.

* * *

The interview had been set up in an unused conference room off one of the hallways with very little foot traffic. Hermione had never been to this part of the building before and was glad she had left early to get to the meeting because even if she had wanted help to find the room, there was no one around to provide it to her.

The interviewer was not Rita Skeeter thankfully or maybe not thankfully because Hermione had some leverage over the woman. She did, however, have ostentatious glasses like Rita, but perhaps such was the fashion in news rooms.

“Hello, Miss Granger, I’m Evelyn Holmes. From the _Prophet_.”

“Nice to meet you. And you can call me Hermione.” Hermione now desperately wished she had read any of the articles so she could know what, if anything, this woman had said about her.

“Alright, Hermione,” Evelyn said, flipping through her notebook to a blank page. Hermione looked at the pen poised in the woman’s hand—not a Quick-Quotes Quill, to Hermione’s relief. “How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” Hermione asked laughing nervously. “Like, in general?”

“I suppose but I more meant about your upcoming wedding.”

“Right. Uh… well, it is certainly is stressful. Lots to plan, you know?” Evelyn nodded, evidently indicating Hermione to continue. But that was the thing. She did not know how to continue. She probably shouldn’t say a ministry employee was planning her wedding, right? Why couldn’t Percy have just briefed her like she had wanted?

“And lots to think about,” she continued. Evelyn stopped writing to look at Hermione over her glasses.

“Can you elaborate on that?” 

Hermione thought back to her most recent meeting with Phaedra. “Like the guest list. I don’t want to exclude anyone.”

“Like your ex?” Hermione looked up from her twiddling thumbs to stare at the woman before her. What kind of question was that? Who invited their ex to their wedding?

“Uh… no.” Hermione wanted to add “definitely not,” but she also did not want to be rude to the woman who held an inordinate amount of power over her at that moment.

“Things didn’t exactly end amicably between the two of you, did they?” she stated with a smirk.

No, they most certainly did not, Hermione thought. So, if you knew that, why would you ask?

“What about Harry Potter? You and he are still close, I would hope.”

Hermione tried not to fidget or look too scared by the question since she knew more than just her words would be written about in the paper. But she really needed to come up with an answer and quickly. If she said yes, he was coming, then she risked being caught in a lie if he did not actually show up on the big day. But if she said no, that would inevitably prompt more questions.

“He’s been invited, yes,” Hermione said, having realized she had only been asked if he was on the guest list not that he was definitely, for sure, 100% coming.

“Wonderful,” Evelyn said, barely looking up from her notebook. “I look forward to being there.”

Hermione could barely hide her surprise. “Oh, you will be in attendance?”

“I have been given a press pass, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yes, of course, I mean obviously you’re not on the guest list because I poured over that for hours and have it memorized.” Nice save, Hermione.

“Right… So, Hermione, tell me, what are your plans for after the wedding?”

“You mean, like the honeymoon?” Hermione felt her pulse quicken. She had not heard any mention of a honeymoon probably because paying for the wedding had been expensive enough. They had probably just planned to say they were going somewhere secret and romantic on the honeymoon and leave it at that.

“While I am sure my readers are interested in where you’ll be honeymooning, I more meant bigger plans.”

“Of course. How foolish of me! Well, we are looking into buying a home,” Hermione improvised. She remembered the threat that Percy had leveraged against her. She figured it was a harmless lie because it was not as if they would follow up on it and make sure that she and Severus were really, truly living together. She hoped. Merlin, she really did not know what the future held.

“Wonderful! Whereabouts?”

She was about to say London and then she remembered that even with their combined incomes they would not be able to afford something very large in the city proper. “We’re keeping our options open.”

“Right. Of course. Were you thinking muggle or magical community?”

“Uh…” Hermione began. “We’re not picky.”

“You’re not picky? You’re not worried about where you’re going to raise your children?”

Oh, no. The worst possible question. Wow, why had she not anticipated this question when her own mother was pestering her about the same thing? Hermione wished she could slow time so that she could think of how best to respond. Could she lie or should she just tell the truth and tell Evelyn that she did not want children? Despite how much she wanted to be truthful, the truth would get her into a lot more trouble.

“Oh, yes, about that. We were going to wait a bit longer to have children.” Just saying those words seemed to leave a sickly film coating her tongue. She hated talking about something so personal with a stranger and she also did not want to think about making children with Severus. She was not sure about their relationship but that was definitely not in the cards.

“Why wait though? You’re young and presumably healthy. Your fertility is only going to decrease too the longer you wait.”

Hermione wanted to retort that that was patently stupid. Fertility potions existed for a reason and her soon-to-be husband was, after all, a potions master with his own apothecary. Such things did not concern her. But, no, she did not want to say that because what the hell! Why were they talking about this anyway. Hermione should not have to defend her decisions to the _Prophet_.

“I am focusing on my career right now,” Hermione said trying to smother any tinge of irony in her voice. How many times had she heard other women say the same thing? Surely this had to be a safe answer.

“Right… but why bother?”

“Pardon?” Hermione asked, pretending to have not heard. Surely this woman did not imply that she should not bother to have a career. Why bother? Why did she do anything? If she started thinking like that then nothing would get done. 

“The assumption is that you’re going to quit your job to raise your children.”

Hermione felt a hot jolt of anger radiating from her core reaching her fingers and toes. “I—” Hermione stopped herself before she said something regrettable though based on Evelyn’s current expression she was doing a fine job of mucking up this interview as it was.

She looked at Evelyn up and down once more. Two could play at this game. “Do you have children, Evelyn?”

“I do. Two. A boy and a girl.”

“Wow, a boy _and_ a girl? How fortunate for you,” Hermione said, her voice saccharine sweet.

“Yes, I’ve been very lucky. But this interview is hardly about me; we’re here to talk about you.”

“I was just curious why you would assume I would stop working when you yourself have children. You don’t think that’s odd?”

“Yes, well, your job is much more important than my job.”

“Really? You don’t think being a journalist is hard work?”

“No, I don’t mean that. I just mean… it’s no secret, Hermione, that you work from dusk till dawn. Every day. And even on the weekends.”

“That’s why I can’t stop now. Once I get to a better position in the ministry, I will have the time to start a family.”

“In a higher position won’t you have even more responsibility?”

Hermione wanted to argue that no that wasn’t the case, that the only reason she worked so hard because she was also doing secretarial duties for Percy, not to mention the fact that his workaholic tendencies rubbed off onto her and that other members of Kingsley’s staff did not work nearly as much as she did. But she could hardly go around bad-mouthing her coworkers especially since she was trying to promote the people’s trust in their government. Why hadn’t Percy prepped her again?

Hermione did not dare to look at her watch for fear of appearing rude but how much time remained? Maybe she could stall out the clock. She was floundering and she knew it. Merlin, she wished someone would just put this interview out of its misery.

“No, you’re right. I will have more responsibility but I will also be making a higher salary. Between my work and my husband’s business we will be able to afford childcare. And maybe on certain days they will even be able to spend time at the shop where he can keep a close eye on them. I really am not worried about it.”

Evelyn stopped writing and opened her mouth as if to formulate a new question but Hermione did not want that. She wanted as few new questions as possible.

“My parents are also retired and that means free childcare for us. And of course if my mum keeps nagging me for grandchildren, I will just drop them off at her house and see how much she likes having children underfoot again. I can’t imagine she will last very long before she calls me and begs me to take them back.”

Evelyn held up a finger as if to interject but Hermione continued. Was she looking at the clock behind Hermione or was she just imagining it? Merlin, this was working!

“It is funny, isn’t it, how much our parents want grandchildren. It’s like, aren’t I good enough? Why do you need another one of me? It was your decision to only have one child; you should have considered that before.”

“As fun as this has been, I’m afraid I must cut you off there, Hermione. I have a deadline to meet and your boss told me I could only have you for a half hour anyway.”

“That really is too bad. Just when it was getting good, wasn’t it? Shame… but I trust you got everything you needed?”

Evelyn was stuffing her notebook and quill into her bag when she said, “Yes, I think so. Have a nice rest of your day, Hermione.”

“You too, Evelyn. You too.”

Hermione was not sure why she felt so victorious when she knew that the rest of the interview had been a total disaster. There was nothing else she could do now. Well, beyond getting a drink later that evening. It would not help but it might make her feel a little better.

She realized, however, that what she really wanted was to talk to Severus about what had just transpired. But they had not spoken in a week—a relatively long time for them now—and she hardly wanted to show up at his unannounced. No, she would have to wait till their next “date.” It would not be long now.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra chapter to make up for my absence :)

Severus took another look at the clock as he began bottling a depillating potion. He was supposed to meet Hermione soon. The idea made him nervous for some reason. Well, that was not entirely true; Severus did know the reason. He could not stop looking at the clock and his quickened pulse screaming in his ears once more. He had faced down death and yet somehow going to meet the woman he had recently kissed somehow felt worse. He had a sneaking suspicion she was furious with him.

He had grown used to doing his business out in the open and using the front door, but today Severus snuck out the back and cast a disillusionment charm over himself. Later, he would be seen all about Diagon Alley, but now was not the time to be followed.

Before he could get out the door, however, he came face-to-face with Hermione. She was not wearing a scarf and she was looking at the ground, busily chewing her lip. Her eyes lit up when she saw him and with that, all of Severus’s fear that she was angry with him had vanished.

“I was, uh, in the area and I thought we could walk over together,” she said. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, yes. Certainly.” It sounded like a white lie but he was not going to begrudge himself an opportunity to spend time with her. Those had become the bright spots in his otherwise dull days. Merlin, was that a bad sign? He knew he was in deep, but he did not know how to pull himself out.

He closed the door and joined her in the alley. Instinctively he reached for her hand but he quickly returned his own hand to his pocket. There would be no hand-holding when they were not performing.

“How are you?” Hermione began. He could see out of the corner of his eye that she was scratching her nose. She always seemed to fidget more when they were alone.

“I am well. A bit tired but I am enjoying the cold day.”

Hermione looked him up and down. “You like the cold?” she asked incredulously.

Severus shrugged. “I don’t _not_ like the cold.” It was then that he noticed the gold necklace that had caught his eye the other day. Since she was no longer wearing a scarf, it had been made visible. He made a mental note to ask her where she had gotten it since it seemed to hold sentimental value.

Hermione exhaled from her nose. Severus knew that meant she had found something funny but not funny enough to laugh. “And you said you were tired?” she said, expanding on the first part of his response. “Yeah… me too.”

“Oh, yes. Certainly not as tired as you must be.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it seem like a competition,” Hermione said. “But I do think I’m winning.”

“Is that so? Well, I’ve spent far too many years sleep-deprived to not get a full-night sleep. It gets harder when you’re older too.” After he had said that, Severus was kicking himself. Even though it was a fact everyone was aware of, it was still awkward to draw attention to.

“Hopefully that won’t be a problem for me soon enough.” She was talking about her potential promotion.

“I hope so too.”

“Although now I’m not so sure,” she said kicking a rock.

“What happened?” he asked. Was it something he had done? Had he not played the role of doting fiancé convincingly enough?

“Percy happened.” That should have been Severus’s first guess. That man had only proven himself to be a menace. It probably would not do either of them any good if Severus were to threaten him but that did not mean that he did not wish to do that. “He signed me up for an exclusive interview with the _Prophet_ without any preparation! I should have suspected he would try something. And of course the reporter asked the worst possible questions.”

“What did she ask?” Severus saw that they were nearing the ministry but he wished desperately that they could continue their walk further.

“Just questions about our future.” Severus could tell Hermione did not want to talk about it in detail which meant he should not press about it. “And since I was given no guidance, I mucked it up entirely.”

They were inside now which signaled the end of that conversation. Herrmione could probably not afford to be bad-mouthing anyone within the walls of the ministry, even if that person was Percy Weasley. They moved to their destination in relative silence but Hermione would occasionally stop to wave at and greet people whom she knew. They would look at Hermione and smile but then when their eyes drifted over to Severus, he could not help but notice the way their faces dropped.

Outside of the destination, Hermione paused before giving Severus a look. Normally he was so good at reading people, but sometimes, with her, that ability went haywire. Then she held the door open for him and gestured for Severus to go inside.

Inside the usual conference room Phaedra Chapman stood behind the long table, two pieces of paper before her. They looked like itineraries and each was different. Severus had assumed they would be shopping together but he supposed if they were buying gifts for each other, they would not want the other to see.

“I’ve already procured the final gifts from their respective shops,” Phaedra said. “But other shopkeepers were… keen for you to be seen patronizing them.”

Ah, there it was. Severus should have expected as much, that there would be some kind of quid pro quo for the shopping trip. He felt his face droop a little bit. He had wanted to buy Hermione her gift but he supposed it was not the end of the world. He could always get her something else on his own time. Unless something caught his fancy on this trip.

“All set?” Phaedra asked after she had handed them their respective lists. “These are charmed to look like Christmas lists to anyone else, so don’t worry about pulling them at frequently to know where you are going next.”

“Yes,” they said in unison. Phaedra looked at them oddly, probably curious about the sing-songy way they had responded, but said nothing.

Once more they left from the back door of the ministry but they walked farther apart than they came in. At first, Severus wondered what had happened between them—and if he had been responsible—but then he realized he was probably overreacting. They did not need to be holding hands everywhere they went. Not even real couples did that. And hadn’t her eyes lit up when she had first seen him today? Or had Severus been imagining that too?

“What do you suppose your gift is going to be?” Hermione asked into the cold morning air.

“My gift for you or from you?”

“Both,” Hermione said. Severus was not looking at her but he could hear the smile in her voice.

“For you? I don’t know. A book?” He did not have any other idea because that’s all he had thought to buy her so far. He had no other ideas. “From you?” He exhaled loudly. “That I really don’t have a clue. What do you think?” Severus asked.

“That’s easy,” Hermione said. “Cufflinks. The Ministry wants glitz and glamour.” She held up her ringed-finger. “That’s why I’m assuming they also got me some ostentatious piece of jewelry. I gave them a cursory glance and there was no Flourish nor Blotts on our itineraries.”

Severus had not looked at their itineraries though. He had been too busy thinking about how disappointed he had been that he could not buy Hermione her gift himself. But maybe, he thought, this was a blessing in disguise. It was not as if he had any good ideas of his own.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Sounds about right.”

They were outside the Leaky Cauldron now. Hermione looked at him. “I suppose we better prepare ourselves before we go in there.” She worried her lip once more. The gesture made his stomach do a little flip.

Severus nodded. Their hands found each other’s and they marched inside, heads held high, like they could not hear the whispers. But that was not the case. Severus did hear the whispers and he did not like everything he heard. The implications were not pretty. His heart sank.

He did not dare look at Hermione. How must she be weathering it? It was one thing to have his honor threatened, but hers was another thing entirely.

But they made it through the darkness of the inn back into the light of the busy alley. Diagon Alley was decorated for the winter holiday with wreaths and baubles and boughs of holly. Severus was never much for Yuletide cheer but he could admit it looked nice. He looked down at Hermione who seemed to be drinking it all in gleefully. He had no idea that it meant so much to her. Maybe that was what she had been trying to show him when he had interrupted her with that kiss.

“So, I guess we’ll see each other later,” he said, releasing her hand. Hermione stopped her staring at the decorations to look at him. Was he crazy or did she look a little sad?

He moved to walk away but she grabbed his hand back. Was she going to miss him that much? Now he knew he must have been crazy. But then she pulled him down to her level.

He felt her hot breath in his ear. “We have to put on a show,” she whispered. Severus understood immediately. She was pretending to kiss him. And that’s what that kiss had been anyway, right? A show.

The first stop on Severus’s guide was a store whose name he did not immediately recognize. When he finally stood outside of it, he realized why: it was a lingerie shop. Normally he would not normally be caught dead in such a place, but then again, he never had any cause to visit one in the past. Phaedra certainly had a sick sense of humor if she had been the one to set this up.

His job was to pretend to browse, find something near the end of the allotted time, hand it to the cashier, and then the cashier would give him an empty bag emblazoned with the shop’s logo. This way the shop got the free press and the Ministry did not have to spend money at every shop.

Severus knew why they were doing it this way, but the list of shops was rather long. Who needed to buy that many gifts for their loved one? But more importantly, what sort of man bought lingerie for his wife or girlfriend to wear? Wasn’t it normally the other way around?

He still did not exactly know what to do to pass the time once inside. Did he just have to wander around and pretend different garments had caught his eye? Merlin, even that seemed too terrible. Would a shopkeeper come over and ask if he was shopping for that special someone? It was enough to make him die of embarrassment.

But Severus reminded himself that he was doing this for her. If she needed him to pretend to be interested in lace and corset boning to get ahead in her job, then he would. Severus tried to look deep in contemplation as he moved—well, he wasn’t sure what they were called—bras, perhaps, around on the racks. This whole thing was foolish. There was currently no one else in the store except for a sullen looking teenager manning the counter behind a magazine, for which he was immensely grateful.

He checked his parchment again. Had he pretended to shop long enough? He checked his watch and he needed about five more minutes. And then he heard the bell of the door open and a giggle.

The laugh may have not been aimed at him, but Severus was not about to stick around to find out, so he hurried to the cash register, a black and purple thing balled up in his fist. He dropped it on the counter and the teenager looked at him, took the garment, and gave him a bag.

Merlin, never had Severus had such a mortifying experience.

* * *

On the other side of the alley, Hermione was having her own crisis of sorts. She was being forced to shop at a baby store which was ridiculous to say the least. If she was buying stuff ostensibly for Severus, why would she be here? Moreover, were they trying to imply that she was pregnant? Because if that were the case, they had better prepare for that not to be true. Or the blowback associated with her getting pregnant before marriage.

Was she being punished for what she had said in the interview? Because as far as she knew, it had not been published, so there was no need to publicly flagellate her for it. At least, not yet.

She stared at the clock behind the counter. How long would she have to wait here again?

After twenty minutes looking at pastel baby clothes, Hermione looked at the next item on her list. The Burning Boudoir? She had not noticed that one before. Wasn’t that a lingerie store? What kind of list was this? 

Was something else at play here? Like they were trying to convince everyone that they were having sex? A shiver crawled up Hermione’s spine. Why was this necessary? Why did the world need to be in their business?

Walking from store to store, empty shopping bags filling up her arms, Hermione started to notice a disturbing trend. These lists were not tailored to them at all. The ministry was trying to send a message. Well, of course they are trying to send a message; they always were.

And really, how could they be selling their love when they were not even shopping together? Obviously they wouldn’t buy each other’s presents together, but who was to say she was not shopping for her mother or her father or whoever else?

Hermione sighed. She had reached the end of the list—she had to go to a furniture store—and finally there was stuff she would conceivably buy for him. Well, maybe not for Christmas, since new potions desks did not come cheap and they had not agreed upon what amount they were going to spend on each other. Actually, they had not come to an agreement at all.

So should she get him something? Would it be embarrassing if she didn’t? Or would it be more embarrassing if he got her something and he did not reciprocate. At times like this she really wished there were guides on what to buy your fake fiancé.

What the hell, she thought. She might as well stop someplace to get him a gift. It did not have to be expensive, just thoughtful. He would need not feel bad if she did not end up spending a lot of money. And fortunately for her, she knew just the place to do that.

Hermione left the stupid furniture store—honestly, who buys their spouse furniture for Christmas?—and headed to Flourish and Blotts.

Unfortunately Hermione had still yet to see Severus’s book collection so she did not know what books he already had. So to be on the safe side she headed to the new releases section to see if anything caught her eye.

There were memoirs, novels, and cookbooks, but nothing that really screamed “Severus Snape” to her. Though she did make a mental note of the cookbooks if it came to it. He did love to cook and maybe she could leave a cheeky inscription about making her dinners some nights.

Where were the new potions books? Should she hazard her way into that section? Or did he most definitely have all of them?

Hermione stopped. She thought about her own favorite books, the ones she had gotten as gifts. They were ones that people had not only thought she might like but also had said that they reminded them of her. Maybe she could do that. Find the book that reminded her of him.

* * *

Severus had endured the embarrassing ordeal to find himself with some extra time on his hands before they had to meet Phaedra again. He wanted to use this time to get a gift for Hermione. He knew it was cliché but he really could only conceive of buying her a book.

So he had wound his way down Diagon Alley to Flourish and Blotts to see if anything stuck out at him as the perfect gift for Hermione Granger. It would be tough since he did not know what books she already had, but maybe he could make it special with a particularly nice inscription. Or maybe he was thinking too highly of himself. Why would she treasure something like that?

Severus scanned his eyes around the new releases—nothing caught his eye—and walked deeper into the heart of the store. He did not know what her reading tastes were exactly. She was notorious for reading anything and everything. So how did he buy for her? He was already so poor at buying gifts and now even his fallback would not work.

Finally he found himself in a section that seemed to fit. The books were big and about ponderous subjects, like metatextual analyses on metatextual analyses. He rubbed his fingers along their spines, examining the titles in greater detail. Severus could make neither heads nor tails about the actual subject matter but he hoped that was a good sign.

He stepped back to better survey the selection when he felt his back lightly bump into someone else. “Excuse me,” he said softly—it was not a library but he had always thought you should be quiet in any place that housed books—and returned to his browsing. He also heard a small “pardon me” from the person he had apparently bumped.

Wait a moment, he thought. That voice sounded very familiar. He turned to look down at the curly head now perusing the shelf opposite his.

Should he say something? Not only did he not want to disturb her apparent deep concentration, but he did not even know what to say. Could he be more awkward? They had kissed for Merlin’s sake!

“Um,” he said, clearing his throat. “Hello.”

She spun on her heel. Severus could see she already had a sizeable stack of books in her arms. “Oh, hello. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yes, well, I had some time to spare before we have to go back. I thought I would do some personal shopping.”

Hermione leaned to her right, her hair tumbling off her shoulders, to look behind him. It was an incredibly endearing gesture, he found himself thinking. “In the literary criticism section?”

“Yes, well, when you’ve read everything, it is nice to read something else for once.”

Hermione nodded like she agreed but she still looked a little confused. “Do you want to walk back together then?” he asked.

“Of course. With pleasure.” A chill ran down Severus’s spine. With that smile, it seemed like she really meant it. “Just have to buy these,” she said lifting up the books. She moved too fast for Severus to get a good look at the titles. Severus was surprised by her apparent strength.

* * *

They left Diagon Alley with their arms full of shopping bags but once they were clear of the crowds, Hermione offered to put Severus’s bags into her beaded bag where she had previously put her books. Hermione hoped he had not seen the books she had purchased or had assumed that they were all for her. She felt good about getting him a gift because despite what he might have said, she could tell he was looking for a book for her.

“So, were your shops just as terrible as mine?” Her question was rewarded with a laugh from Severus. “I don’t know if we were accomplishing any form of propaganda or if Phaedra was just trying to embarrass us.”

“Indeed,” he said.

“I mean… I do worry about that sometimes. This could be all just a ploy to embarrass me.” Hermione let out a little laugh because she knew she must sound paranoid.

“Maybe,” he said. Why he did not say more, she did not know. Was he thinking the same thing? Or did he just want to get her to stop talking about it because the thought that he had wasted all that time on a joke was too cruel to bear.

“I suppose I didn’t get nothing out of the deal.” I got a friend. She wanted to say. But it felt too cheesy and she did not know if he would want to stick around after her public undoing. True, he had kissed her but how many other people had kissed her and left her? People she had known much longer.

“Yes,” he said. Hmm, was his reticence weird?

But Hermione did not have much time to think about because they were back at the Ministry. They reached the conference room where Phaedra was waiting.

“How did it go?” she asked. The two of them exchanged knowing looks.

“Fine. Great,” Hermione said. “I’m sure plenty of people saw us based on how busy it was.”

“Yes, well, I hope it wasn’t too miserable. And you didn’t even get to spend the time together.” Hermione did not dare look at Severus in that moment. Surely he would not be happy by that implication. “In any case, here are your gifts from each other.”

She took out the boxes from under the table. She gave Hermione the small box. Just as she predicted. The box she gave to Severus was a bit bigger. They shared an uneasy glance before Phaedra said, “Go ahead. Open them.”

Hermione untied the carefully crafted bow and popped the top off the box. It was a heart-shaped necklace made of silver. She turned it in her hand. Not it was a locket; she could make out a hinge on the side. She rubbed her thumb over a side. There was a “S” engraved on it. She flipped it over. No “H” or “G” or anything else though. Weird. Who wore a necklace with their partner’s initial?

She looked over at Severus but could not see what he had received. She would have to ask him later. “Just like the ring, Hermione, you receiving that is contingent upon you wearing it in public.”

Hermione nodded. She was used to performing their little song and dance. It was not very ugly; she would wear it. She would have to take off her usual gold necklace though since her mother had always told her mixing metals was a faux pas. Hermione was not so sure about that but she would probably hear the same thing from Phaedra.

“You already look so thrilled with me, so I guess I’ll dismiss you,” Phaedra said, giving a self-deprecating laugh.

Hermione had to finish up something so she stopped in the hallway to say goodbye to Severus and to thank him for his seemingly infinite patience. It had surely been worse for him to endure.

“I have to get back to work,” she said, stopping him in the hallway outside her office. “Thank you for today. It means the world to me. If it was bad for me, it must have been absolutely terrible for you.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners showing a hint of a smile. “Let’s say that is not an experience I would like to undergo again anytime soon.”

Hermione was taking off her gold necklace and putting on the new one while they talked. She fidgeted with the clasp a little bit and felt incredibly stupid. Why was this so hard? “May I help?” Severus offered to which Hermione relented.

He came up behind her and Hermione could feel his large, warm presence. She had already brushed her long, curly hair to the side and was holding the two pieces of the clasps in her hands. He took them from her and she could feel his rough warm fingers. She missed feeling them on her own. The thought made her heart quicken. But that was not right. This was not real. Her racing heart apparently did not understand that though.

“What is the necklace anyway?” Due to his proximity she could feel his warm breath in her eye, feel his deep voice in her spine.

“It’s a heart-shaped locket. Kinda tacky,” she added. She could not help but be forcefully reminded of the locket Lavender had given Ron. She winced at the thought. She laughed trying to push the feeling aside. “And it has an ‘S’ on it. Why would it not be one of my initials? It’s like a collar or something.”

Severus stopped and moved away. No! Where was he going? She wanted to feel him close again. But she felt the necklace sit against her breast bone. He had done it.

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone.” Was it something she had said?

“Wait,” she said, feeling a bit stupid. Stick around a bit longer she wanted to say. But she had work to do anyway. “What did you get from me?”

“A check,” he said, dryly.

Oh, Hermione thought, with a sinking heart. Not very exciting gift. But perhaps that’s what he wanted. She would not have gotten that for him if it had been her decision. Nevertheless she had the book for him in her beaded bag which she would wrap up and give him later.

“Well, have a good night,” she said.

When would they see each other again? That had been their last date. But they still had not done their dance lessons, she remembered. This was not the end. Her heart soared at the thought.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually update on Saturdays but I am trying to get the Christmas part of this story out while it's still seasonally appropriate :)

Severus awoke feeling rundown. Was he getting sick? No, it was more than that; he could feel it in his bones as well. A symptom of being old, he thought. He showered, shaved—he knew Hermione liked his scruff but they weren’t going to see each other today anyway and he did not feel right going to work with five o’clock shadow—and got dressed. As per usual, he put on black pants, white shirt, black vest. It was similar to what he had worn after all of his years of teaching at Hogwarts except with fewer layers since his shop was considerably warmer than a drafty dungeon.

He opened his front door to leave went outside and was surprised to see two envelopes. He never got letters, unless they were from Hermione, but those usually came to his office. His heart quickened as he dared to hope at least one was from her, whom he had not heard from lately and was anxious to hear from again. But of course the official seal told him it was from the Ministry. Severus wondered if it was another piece of paper telling him more money had been deposited into his account. The idea of this made him uneasy.

Although it had been part of their initial agreement, he did know now how felt about taking taxpayer money to essentially spend time with Hermione, someone he would spend time with regardless. It also tainted every interaction, made them into transactions, rather than what they had become to him: moments he cherished with a friend.

Still, he reminded himself, this money could be useful for them in the future. If the worst happened and Hermione lost her job, he could pay for her to stay in her apartment while she looked for new employment. Normally Severus would not be worried about someone as capable as Hermione being fired, but if he were being honest with himself, he could see this all going very south and very fast. He wondered if Hermione felt the same way.

Severus tore open the envelope from the Ministry but instead of a check, he saw that he was being summoned to a tailor shop to be fitted for the wedding later that day. Hope sparked in his chest for a moment as he anticipated seeing Hermione once more but then he realized that she probably would not be accompanying him. He knew it was tradition for a groom not to see his bride’s dress before the wedding day, but there was no such rule for the bride to see her groom in his stately attire. But if she would be there, she would have probably written to him herself.

The second envelope had no markings on the outside. Definitely not from Hermione either. He ripped it open with similar ruthlessness. It was a newspaper clipping. How odd. It was cut from the latest edition of the _Prophet._ Whoever had sent it to him must have known he did not subscribe to such filth.

As he unfolded the clipping, Severus sucked in air through his teeth. It was an article about an interview the author had had with Hermione. He remembered Hermione telling him how she had flubbed it. But, still, why had someone sent this to him? Only a handful of people knew of his whereabouts. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.

“Tell-All Interview with Hermione Granger— _Prophet_ Exclusive,” the headline read. Severus unfolded the paper. He got a better look at her. She was seated and smiling, glowing almost. He tried to remember where this had been taken. Had he been there? Of course. Their ice-skating date. The lights in the trees lended themselves to her glow. 

“Miss Hermione Granger, 25 years old, has it all figured out. She is rising to the top of the political ladder and was recently engaged to the man of her dreams. She has everything she could ever possibly want: fame, power, and love. What more could be missing? A legacy perhaps. I sat down with her to discuss her plans for the future.

 **Evelyn Holmes:** Hello, Miss Granger, I’m Evelyn Holmes. From the _Prophet_.

 **Hermione Granger:** Nice to meet you. And you can call me Hermione.

 **EH:** Alright, Hermione. How are you feeling?

 **HG:** How am I feeling? [ _Hermione laughs._ ] Like, in general?

 **EH:** I suppose but I more meant about your upcoming wedding.

 **HG:** Right. Uh… well, it is certainly is stressful. Lots to plan, you know?”

The article continued like that for some time with the interviewer and Hermione exchanging pleasantries and talking about banal things. It felt odd reading her words in the paper. He knew her so well, yet reading this felt like her words being spoken by someone else.

Finally Severus came to the part that had had Hermione so worried. The interviewer was asking Hermione about their children. In the past he might have been angry that someone had implied he would ever want to have children of his own but now he just felt sad that they had even asked Hermione about it. She clearly did not want to talk about them but the interviewer was putting her down, saying she did not know any better.

“As you can see, Miss Granger has a lot to learn about what it means to be a wife. She is still young and so naïve to think she can have her cake and eat it too. She will soon learn she will have to sacrifice something if she is going to get anything out of married life.”

Severus refolded the paper and stuffed it under his arm. That sure was a mean way to conclude an article when Hermione had been apparently so kind to the interviewer. Severus’s stomach churned. He hoped Hermione would get out of this mess, because, for as little as he wanted children, he was positive that she wanted them even less.

* * *

Hermione had got an interdepartmental note on her desk that morning saying she would have her dress fitting later that day. Phaedra had been “delighted to inform her” that indeed the dress she had wanted would be her dress which felt like a small victory. Hermione needed every little piece of happiness she could get her hands on if she was going to survive the day.

She had seen that morning on newstands that her interview with Evelyn Holmes had been published. But if Percy or anyone else was mad about her poor performance, Hermione heard no mention of it, which made her even more suspicious. She had done a bad job; she knew that much. She had made them look bad because she did not want children. And that was the whole point of this stupid law!

Percy should have chewed her out by now. What was he plotting? Was he planning on snitching on her to the minister, get her fired for what she had done? The wedding did not look it had been called off yet; she still had her fitting. But perhaps Kingsley would soon cut his losses and end the whole thing.

It was odd that Kingsley, a normally hands-on guy, had kept his hands mostly clean of this whole thing. Did he find it reproachful? It was his idea practically. Could he not bear to see the people he was hurting even though he felt the ends justified the means? But Hermione could not dwell on this further because she was approached by Phaedra looking prim and poised as ever.

“I like your necklace,” she said with a wink. “Who got it for you?”

Hermione wanted to respond that Phaedra, in fact, had and that Hermione found it unbelievably tacky and totally not Severus’s style. She had never received jewelry from him—and likely never would—but she imagined it would be understated, elegant, and tasteful.

“A special someone,” she said, devoid of feeling. Hermione was hardly in the mood for this repartee.

“Right, well, I was coming over to accompany you to your fitting.” Phaedra had her hands stuck into her fashionably cut trousers and looked almost disappointed at Hermione’s lack of response.

“Of course,” Hermione said, standing up and pushing in her chair. She did not want Phaedra there, wished Ginny were not on the road somewhere, but she still preferred her company to going by herself. Moreover, Phaedra probably had to be there by government decree, to make sure the dress was not too scandalous but rather bureaucratically perfect.

The cold wind bit their faces and seemed to steal all moisture from her face. She still had no scarf and the locket grew cold in the wind against her bare skin. She was not happy about this development. Ha, she thought bitterly, it was like her own heart, frozen cold after months of disuse.

They passed many people on their trip to the shop, all similarly bundled. Hermione looked at all of them as Phaedra chatted beside her. Then she saw a man coming toward them who had a pompom on his knit cap. Hermione did not think much of him at first but something about him made her look twice. There were after all tons of men with similar jackets and hats with pompoms. But then she noticed way he held himself—a little stooped—the curve of his jaw, and finally, his blue eyes. She knew those blue eyes and would remember them for as long as she lived. Ron.

His blue eyes lit up when he turned to look at them. But icy realization coursed through her veins when Hermione saw that he was not looking at her, but at Phaedra. The laugh she had heard in the office was not Percy’s but Ron’s.

She felt another icy jolt when he finally looked at her. She watched recognition dawn on his features and the quick look down, like something interesting was happening under his feet. He did not say “hello” or even acknowledge her, but continued walking in the opposite direction, like he had not seen them.

Sure, she was his ex, but Phaedra was his current fiancée. Was Hermione so repulsive that he could not even greet the supposed love of his life? Had Phaedra seen him? At that exact moment, Phaedra was in Hermione’s top three least favorite people, but she could admit that would hurt.

Hermione turned to gauge Phaedra’s reaction. Her face was as smooth and unreadable as Severus’s when he did not want someone to know he was feeling. That alone was proof enough that Phaedra had felt snubbed.

She was not sure what she had expected, but now that the cat was out of the bag, shouldn’t Phaedra say something? Something like, “Hey, sorry, I stole your man. No hard feelings, right?” But soon they were outside of the dress shop and despite her earlier chattiness, Phaedra had said nothing to Hermione on the rest of the journey over.

“We’re here,” Phaedra said at last, opening the door for Hermione. Hermione entered, her heart still pumping from running into Ron. What was she still doing here? Phaedra was engaged to Ron and she was acting like Hermione had not just learned of that bombshell.

But Hermione’s feet remained firmly in place, as if her body was still in shock at learning of this betrayal. 

The assistant who had helped them last time came in and clapped her hands. Hermione nearly jumped at the sound. “Isn’t this exciting? We’re getting closer and closer to the big day!”

No. Certainly not. Any tinge of excitement for this fake wedding had been snuffed out by the realization that her planner was sleeping with her ex. But still, Hermione tried to put on a brave face and smiled.

She was given the dress and sent off into the changing room. When was anyone going to tell her about Ron and Phaedra, by the way? Ginny and Harry must have both known. She exited the changing room, dress on and quietly seething.

The shopkeeper had brought out a seamstress who began prodding and poking Hermione. Were they ever going to tell her? Or would they keep it a secret until they all died? Maybe she did not want them at her wedding if they were going to act like that. Maybe she would disinvite _them_ from _her_ wedding. See how they liked it.

Ow. A pin accidentally pricked Hermione. What did they expect would happen? That she would freak out on them? Well, if they were worried about that then, they would really have to worry about it now. What gave them the right to keep that from her? Phaedra was her coworker!

And Phaedra! Hermione had thought she was maybe, kind of, sort of becoming a friend. She had some concerns that she was duplicitous but this was a big low. Is that why she wanted her to be with Snape? So, that Hermione would not steal back her “man?” But where was the risk of that? Didn’t she know that Ron had actually broken up with her and not the other way around?

Another prick but Hermione barely noticed because she was too busy becoming more and more angry. Is this what it was all about? An over-the-top ploy to get her out of the way? She had thought it was Percy who had wanted her out of the picture but maybe it was more the machinations of Phaedra trying to get Hermione off the market.

But marrying her off to a man she did not love hardly solved the problem. She and Snape had already agreed that they did not care what the other did. So what was stopping her from going out there and winning him back?

No. Hermione stopped herself. Wait a minute. This was not her. She liked Severus and he was not Snape—at least, not to her—and she did not like Ron, at least not in the way she used to. Moreover, she and Ron… well, they were like oil and vinegar. And more explosive too. Sparks tended to fly when they had been together, but not in the good, romantic kind of way.

Hermione could feel her jaw unclench and her shoulders descend from their precarious position by her ears. She took a mental step back from the situation. Would she have liked to have known the Ron was dating Phaedra? Yes. But in the end, did it matter? No. Regardless of what happened between her and Severus, Ron would not figure into that equation. Whatever this relationship was, at least for the time being, Severus was the only man for Hermione. 

“What are you thinking about?” the seamstress asked, probably noticing Hermione’s faraway look.

“How beautiful I will look on the day of my wedding,” she said, with a shy smile. She could play the blushing bride if she had to.

She turned to look at Phaedra who was beaming at Hermione. If they were going to pretend like nothing had transpired… so be it. But she still had those cards up her sleeve if she needed to play them.

* * *

Severus was surprised to see Phaedra outside of the shop when he arrived at his scheduled time. Sure, she was in charge of the whole wedding and would presumably want a say in everything, but she had made no mention in her note about showing up to the appointment too.

“Sorry, I know I didn’t ask you beforehand,” she said, reaching a hand out of her pocket to shake Severus’s hand. “I wanted to make sure you were indeed happy with what I had picked before we finalized everything.”

Severus did not say anything and instead simply nodded. He opened the door and motioned for her to go inside. In the past he might not have had anything to say about Phaedra Chapman—positive or negative—but now he was not so sure.

“How is my brother?” she asked nonchalantly, as if they both weren’t aware that the two were currently feuding.

“He is well. He is his usual chatty self.”

“That is good to hear,” Phaedra said. “I did send him an invitation. Whether or not he chooses to show up is another matter entirely.”

Severus smiled awkwardly but closed his mouth, remembering his teeth. He was used to smiling around Hermione that he forgot how he looked to other people.

The tailor came out and exchanged a few words with Phaedra before shaking Severus’s hand. He took Severus’s coat and brought out a measuring tape and began touching him with it in all sorts of places. His arms, legs, waist, chest, and one other place were all subject to it and the man’s tenacity. Severus was not happy to be touched by a stranger but he kept still and his mouth shut, gritting his teeth throughout. Eventually it would all be over he kept telling himself.

And it was. The tailor went into the other room and came back with an unfinished suit for him to try on. Severus was unfamiliar with tailoring magic but even to him the results were astounding. Mindful of the pins, he tried it on in the little changing room in the back of the shop. All the while he could hear Phaedra and the tailor talking about him in hushed tones. He strained to hear what they were saying but was unsuccessful.

Severus came out to see them standing close together. He eyed them suspiciously before he noticed the mirror in the corner of the room. He looked at himself in it. Severus was not a fan of the gold; he never liked wearing warm colors, but otherwise it was a nice change of pace to see himself in something else for once. Maybe he would refresh the rest of his wardrobe. Or maybe Hell would freeze over.

Phaedra clapped her hands together when she saw him and let out a dramatic “wow.” “You really are a genius,” she added, turning to the tailor. They exchanged a few more hushed words and Severus thought he caught the word “galleon.” Were they arguing about money? Surely, that had already been taken care of? Or was there something else going on?

The man finished up his alterations which Severus was immensely pleased with. In addition to being tired of interacting with people he was not entirely comfortable with, he also had spent the whole day on his feet and would really appreciate going home to get some much needed rest. He had started the day tired and would end the day tired.

He changed and Phaedra told him he would be free to go. He left the shop while she was still talking to the tailor. The cold air whipped his short hair into his eyes, his mind on the business of Hermione and arguing with tailors. He had almost made it a block from the store when he was trying to put on his gloves that he realized he must have forgotten them in the changing area of the shop.

He turned around and hoped that the shop was still open. To his surprise, however, Phaedra was outside, bouncing up and down on her heels, evidently waiting for someone. Was it her mystery man?

Severus, old habits dying hard, obscured himself behind a nearby building and waited. He was rewarded by the appearance of a young man who was wearing a ridiculous pompom hat. If there had been any doubt about who this man was to Phaedra all of that was quashed when the man pulled her into a hug and planted a kiss on her head. Severus knew he was supposed to do this for the sake of Hermione but he felt like a disgusting interloper to have witnessed a moment that was meant to be private.

Nevertheless he continued to watch as the pair passed under a street lamp and Severus could get a better look at the man in question. Red hair and a red beard peaked out from under the knit cap. He was indeed a Weasley but he was not Percy. Ron. That was why everyone was so cagey about Hermione finding out. Ron was Phaedra’s man.

Severus slunk back into the shadows and waited a while until the happy couple had passed. The whole time he contemplated what to do. He needed to tell Hermione, didn’t he? She had a right to know and clearly everyone else was not respecting that right. Countless people had had the opportunity to tell her but none of them had acted on that ability.

Severus sighed and almost disapparated home before he realized he had almost forgotten his gloves. The tailor must’ve heard the bell because he said, “I told you already! I want to be paid upfront! That man is too ugly to sell many more of my suits. He is hardly a good advertisement.”

Severus summoned his gloves to himself with an accio and left without another word. He had never had any misgivings about his appearance but it hurt to be told to his face by a man he had just met. So, now the man was going back on his deal with the ministry because Severus was not handsome? He was not well-informed in the art of advertisements and marketing but would associating his ugly mug with a suit really make people not want to buy it?

Had this come up before or was Phaedra and the ministry now having other problems securing deals for the other parts of the wedding?

Whatever. It wasn’t his problem. He just had to get his money and go. It did not matter to him if he was attractive or not. He just needed to do his job and help Hermione. That’s what he had been doing and that’s what he would continue to do. Appearances need not factor into that.

And Hermione found him unattractive as well… well, he was fairly certain he could survive it. They were friends and true friendship thrived on something greater than mutual attraction.

But more than friendship? He was not sure about that. He was fairly certain some amount of attraction was required for romantic love. But they need not muddle the situation by adding those kinds of feelings into the equation. And he was getting ahead of himself just thinking about it. He and Hermione were friends and friends they would remain.

Thinking about Hermione he was reminded that he needed to get in contact with her about the “Ron-Phaedra situation.” He got home and pulled out his parchment and quill. He had to do this right.

“ _Dear Hermione_ …” No. He started over. “ _Hermione_?” That was better. “ _Hermione, I have something of utmost importance I need to talk to you about and I feel like it must be said it person. Please contact me at your earliest convenience so we can set up a time and a place to meet_.”

* * *

When Hermione got Severus’s note, her heart sank. It could only mean one thing; this was not good. Her thoughts raced faster than she could catch and process them. Her heart was pounding in her chest and it felt like walls were closing in around her. She was having a panic attack. She recognized the symptoms from a similar situation she had endured all those months ago.

She and Ron had just had a big fight—larger, louder, and more ego-bruising than any that had come before—and she was staying at her parents’ house. It was a temporary arrangement, Hermione had hoped, which would soon be ameliorated when one of them had finally decided to stop being stubborn and apologize. 

Ron had finally called a week later, but instead of simply apologizing and begging her to come back to their shared apartment, he had asked her to meet him in the park to talk. She told herself that he just wanted to smooth things over in neutral territory. But a small voice in the back of her head feared the worst. That little voice had been correct. He had invited her to a park, a public place, because he thought she would not make a scene.

How wrong he had been. When he told her that he wanted to call of the engagement, she had yelled, cried, practically tore her hair out. He told her that their differences were irreconcilable and that a life spent together would only make the both of them miserable. But Hermione continued to plead on her knees for him to reconsider, tears staining her cheeks and her shirt. Eventually he had grown tired of his own begging for her to listen to reason and just disapparated right in front of her. Like nothing had ever mattered. Like they had never mattered. Like she had never mattered.

And now… this. Severus wanted to talk to her about something important. And though he had not specified, she could not help but jump to the conclusion that he had grown tired of the charade and wanted to end it sooner rather than later.

Maybe that was why he had been so quiet the other day. Maybe the lingerie had been too much and he had had enough. Maybe he had read the article and realized that their work would not be done after the wedding, that they would still need to continue performing long after that fateful January day. Maybe he had been scared by her lightly implying they would have kids.

Or maybe, like Ron, he could not imagine spending the rest of his life with her.

Hermione did not know what that would mean for her job. Maybe like with Ron she would prostrate herself and beg him to stay and tell him that the worst was behind them and all that remained was to get married.

She would just have to remind him that she had never wanted kids, she just needed to say what she had to in order to get the interview done and over with and so she wouldn’t get in trouble with her boss.

Still, she did not know if they would eventually face pressure to have a child. It was too much for Hermione to bear right now. She had enough stress on her mind.

She sniffled. Her cheeks were wet. She had not known she had been crying.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double posting because as I mentioned, trying to get the Christmas parts out by Christmas :)

Hermione held a mittened hand up to Severus’s door, but when she was about to knock, she could not bring herself to do it. She was expecting the worst; life experience had taught her that. She was furious at Phaedra and Percy and the rest of the Ministry for causing this mess, but mostly furious at herself for letting herself start to get any feelings for a doomed relationship. Well, a doomed friendship, to be precise. Still, she could not bring herself to be mad at Severus. He did not deserve her ire.

It was with this realization that she was finally able to announce her presence on his doorstep with a knock. Severus showed up at the door wearing a novelty apron and warm smile that melted it all away. Still, what had she expected? He had offered to make her dinner again to let her down gently. Of course he would be wearing his apron. But did he have to smile so?

“I made you Brussels sprouts since I wasn’t sure what else you liked.” Hermione could not help but smile at that. No, don’t you start smiling, she told herself. You’re about to be dumped!

“Thank you,” Hermione said. She wanted to say more but she was not feeling up to conversation at the moment.

He pulled out a chair for her at the table and brought of the steaming dishes. Hermione was going to miss having someone who loved cooking for her. It was back to takeout for her.

Severus sat down opposite her, but realized he had left his apron on after the fact. So, he stood up, removed it, hung it on a hook, and sat back down. Hermione had stared at him the whole time. 

He had even left his stubble unshaved. Curse this man, she thought.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” she asked, deciding it was best to get it over with. They just needed to rip off that bandaid.

* * *

Severus had not expected Hermione to lead with that question. He still wanted time to think of how best to formulate his remarks. But he sat up straight in his chair and cleared his throat.

“I saw Phaedra with her mystery man the other day,” he said, thinking it was best to get it over with. “I, uh, know who he is and he’s not Percy.”

And then the response he had not been expecting. Hermione burst out laughing. She was laughing. Why was she laughing?

“I’m really sorry. This is what you wanted to talk to me about? So, I was worried for nothing?”

Severus looked her over. Was she feeling okay? He resisted the urge to run over and feel her forehead to make sure she was not getting sick. “Hermione, I don’t know how else to break it to you.” She would not be laughing for long he worried.

“This is going to be embarrassing to tell but I was worrying myself sick thinking that you were going to dump me.”

“Hermione, it’s not—Wait… what?”

“No, trust me. It’s fine. I know already.”

* * *

Hermione realized with a jolt that it was fine. Everything was fine. They were going to be alright. Even Ron and Phaedra getting married was totally fine. Because she had realized that the thing that upset her the most was not that but rather the idea that Severus might have broken up with her. The realization was both liberating and terrifying. What did this mean for them? Okay, that was maybe less than fine.

“You thought I was going to break up with you?” Severus asked, looking distant.

“Sorry, poor choice of words. I more meant ‘end our business arrangement.’” Hermione was embarrassed. She really should have chosen her words more carefully.

“Still, that’s what you thought I was writing to tell you about?”

Hermione waved her hand. “We were talking about Ron and Phaedra, remember?”

Severus’s eyes widened. “How did you find out?”

“He saw us walking. And I saw how he looked at Phaedra. It was impossible for me not to put two and two together. But how did you find out?”

“I found out after my fitting. I saw them hugging and kissing.” Hermione resisted the urge not to make a face. But based on Severus’s own expression, he did not like what he had seen either.

“So, we found out at the same time. I guess I have to thank you for trying to tell me as soon as possible. No one else afforded me that courtesy,” she said bitterly.

“Trust me. I didn’t want to, but I knew it was the right thing to do.” Severus was quiet for a moment as he seemed to consider what to say next. “And you’re okay with this?”

This time Hermione chose her next words carefully. She did not want any doubts in Severus’s mind that she harbored any feelings for Ron. And yet, she also did not want to appear too cocky, as if he had truly meant nothing to her. “I think so, yes,” she said at last. Simple, but she felt they got to the heart of the matter. Should she say that it was okay because she had him now? No, that might be too corny.

He smiled. “That’s good.”

“Although I can’t help wondering if we should be more suspicious of Phaedra’s motives. I thought it was only Percy I had to watch out for but there’s no reason to think she doesn’t also have it out for me too.”

Severus nodded, looking thoughtful, his hand under his chin. She wondered if his stubble was prickly against his fingers. “I would hate to default to old habits, but I must agree with you. Now her motives are even more suspect. Someone also sent me a clipping of your interview.” Hermione could not help but wince at the memory of it. “It could have been her. Only a few people know where I live and Phaedra is one of them.”

“Why would someone send you that interview? Why would _she_ send it to you?”

“Trying to drive a wedge between us?” Severus said. “That’s the only reason I can think of.”

“Yes, but wouldn’t she want to send me into your arms so I stay out of Ron’s?”

“Who knows? Maybe this has nothing to do with Ron at all. Maybe she, like Percy, just doesn’t want to see you become minister.”

Hermione sighed. “Remind me again why I got into a career that was so competitive.”

“You’re a competitive person. You hate to lose,” he said with a shrug.

Hermione watched the nonchalant way he said it. He was right of course. She was insanely competitive. She had to be the best. Why couldn’t she settle for just being—oh, she didn’t know—the kindest, maybe? That would probably save her a lot of heartache in the long run.

“Yes, well, I am content to lose him,” she said taking a sip of her water.

“Not that I was terribly worried, but it does put me at ease to know I won’t lose my bride to her ex.”

* * *

Hermione had been drinking water when he had said that and her eyes looked ready to bulge out of his head when he had said that. He watched her spit her water back into her cup in surprise. Why had he said that? Where was his filter around her? Maybe subconsciously he was desperate to tell her how much she meant to him.

And maybe after her fright, maybe they could use some honesty between each other. They might benefit from actually talking to each other once instead of trying to read each other’s minds. Severus took a deep breath in. He knew what he had to do.

“That wasn’t the only thing I wanted to tell you, Hermione,” he said, absent-mindedly playing with a Brussels sprout on his plate with his fork. He could not bear to look at her in that moment. “I must confess I did something I probably shouldn’t have.”

Hermione looked a bit flushed but otherwise she regarding normally, if not a little warily. “What’s that?” she asked, sounding more confused than nervous.

“I may have asked Harry to be in the wedding.”

“Oh,” was all she said. Severus could feel his heart racing. It had started off rocky and now this dinner date was going downhill fast.

“I would not have talked to him had I known you were fighting.” He took in a deep breath. That was definitely not the right thing to say. “Sorry, that makes it sound like I’m accusing you of something. I mean you were under no obligation to inform me of your current standings with people, I just meant—”

“No, it’s okay.”

“And I did ask him to reinvite you to the wedding though maybe if Phaedra’s going to be there—” Hermione flinched almost imperceptibly at his words. Oh, Merlin, he was making it worse.

“No, it really is okay.” Was she just saying that? “I’m not just saying that,” she added. Was she using Legilimency on him? He checked his shields. No, they were still fully intact. “It would have looked weird if Harry had not been at the wedding. Tabloid fodder.”

“I may have asked him to be best man.”

Hermione did almost spit out her drink again. “And he agreed?”

Oh, Merlin, he had really fucked it up this time. “Yes. I am terribly sorry, I should have consulted you first.”

“To be honest, it’s fine. I had not really thought about it anyway. Phaedra doesn’t know, does she?” Severus shook his head. “I will have to inform her that we found your best man. And I guess that makes Ginny my maid of honor.”

“I really am sorry, Hermione. I should’ve told you as soon as it happened.”

* * *

Hermione did not want to think about it too much. Sure, he had technically betrayed her trust, but he also probably felt he was between a rock and a hard place on that one. If this—whatever it was—was going to last, they had to encourage communication between each other.

“I accept your apology,” she said, remembering all of the fights she and Ron had had about the most pointless things. “Now wasn’t I promised lessons at some point?”

“Right,” Severus said. “About that.”

* * *

Hermione helped him to the dishes and put away the leftovers. “How about here?” she asked, standing in front of the refrigerator, backlit by the glow of the refrigerator light. He stared at her for a beat too long.

“Well, close the door, at least,” he said, handing her a container.

“Not now. I mean, after we’re done,” Hermione responded, taking it from him. He could swear that he felt sparks when their fingers met.

“Alright,” he said, handing her a condiment.

They finished and she stood before him, hands on her hips. “Ready?” She looked resolute which was in direct opposition to how he felt. They looked at one another as if they were daring each other to make the first move. Hermione surprised him by grabbing his hand in hers. She put her other hand on his shoulder and he followed suit.

“It’s alright. I really don’t care,” she said, moving his hand down her back. “I think we’re good enough friends now.”

Other men might be insulted by the implication that their fake fiancée only saw them as a friend. Indeed, in the beginning of whatever this was he might have been offended by the implication that she would even consider him a friend. But now he realized that her friendship was one of his favorite things in the world.

“Are we going to start or not?” Hermione asked, bringing his attention back to the present.

“Yes, right.” He started showing her the foot positions when he looked up. “Hermione, you left the fridge open!” he exclaimed, dropping her hand.

“That’s alright,” she said. “I don’t think we have enough room here anyway. How about the living room?”

They walked into his living room together. “There’s far too much in here.”

“We’ll move the furniture,” she said, already taking her wand out. When they had finished, Hermione said, “Where were we?” She took his hand and firmly place the other on her very soft waist. “That’s right, here.”

He showed her the foot positions first and counted for her but he had to admit she had no time or rhythm. It was all very endearing and she could not stop laughing while he tried to explain how she was messing up.

“I’m really awful, aren’t I?” she confessed. “We better just call the whole thing off.”

“We don’t want to upset Phaedra, do we? After she spent all that time planning?”

“True. And she’s probably upset enough as it is sleeping with Ron.”

“Ha,” Severus laughed awkwardly. He did not like to think about that stuff but he couldn’t not laugh with Hermione sharing her pain through humor.

“You know the thing that worried me the most when I thought you were going to end our fake marriage was that I was not going to be able to enjoy your cooking anymore,” she said, finally looking up from her toes to his face. She almost immediately stepped on his foot but luckily they were both clad only in socks.

“You think I’m a good cook?” he asked, teasing her.

“Oh, yes, the very best. Although I may be biased because it’s free.”

Severus raised his brow at her when she stepped on his foot again. “So you’re saying I can start charging you to eat my food?”

“You’re already being paid to spend time with me. You want more money?”

Ah, yes, Severus was forcefully reminded of his gift. He looked down at Hermione and noticed she was wearing “his” necklace. “No,” he said. “Just good to keep in mind. By the way, have you looked at what’s inside that locket?”

Hermione pressed her chin against her neck in a cute way as she strained to look at the necklace. “Oh, yeah. No. I haven’t.”

“Would you like to?” he joked. But he knew Phaedra would have put pictures of him in there if she had indeed done her job correctly.

“Fine,” she said. She dropped her hand from his shoulder and relinquished her hand. But he kept her close. If she minded his hand still on her waist, she said nothing and did not move away.

Hermione pried at the edges of the locket, the strain on her face visible, but she was still unsuccessful in opening the locket.

“Let me try,” he offered. He removed his hand from her waist and touched her hands, indicating that it was now his turn. Normally her hands were quite cold but they were still warm from his body heat.

Severus opened the locket with ease but the pictures were not all what he had expected. If it was a locket for Hermione, it should not be pictures of Hermione. And then he realized that of course it was a magical locket and it must have been that whoever held the locket would see the object of their affection.

“What is it?” Hermione asked. Severus hoped he was doing a good job hiding the surprise on his face. “A cutout from a newspaper or magazine?”

“Yes,” Severus said, lying. Although he supposed it was not entirely a lie. He saw Hermione as he remembered seeing her when he kissed her, the reflection of the Christmas lights reflecting in her eyes.

He closed the locket mostly and dropped it into her hand. He did not want to know what she saw in case—well, most likely—it was not him. He stepped back from her and she pulled open the sides to get a better look.

“Are you sure it’s a newspaper clipping?” she asked. Severus’s heart sank. Of course it would not be him. “I don’t remember you looking scruffy with long hair. Don’t you usually shave beforehand?”

Severus’s heart soared. He had better be more careful. He was not used to going on such a rollercoaster of emotions. His body may not be up to it.

* * *

Hermione realized too late that the locket was not in fact filled copies of physical photographs but rather snapshots of fond memories of a person you felt a deep attachment to. She could feel her face redden as the realization swept over her.

She shut the locket, a bit too hard and tucked it under her shirt. They were done with that conversation.

And yet… she could not help but wonder what Severus had seen? Had he seen her? Or because she was still wearing it, had he seen himself? Hermione did not know how the magic worked exactly.

Hermione returned her hand to his shoulder and tried to grab his hand, but he evaded her grasp. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t want to keep going?”

“No,” he said, looking a bit guilty. “It’s just that it’s getting late. Shouldn’t you be getting home?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, the joy she felt earlier deflating. “I suppose I should.”

“You can come back again another time,” he offered. Hermione brightened at that.

He followed her to the door where she donned her winter gear. She lingered in the doorway, not quite wanting to leave just yet. “Oh, yes, the stupid Christmas party is coming up,” she said. “I don’t think you strictly have to come since there shouldn’t be press there, but…”

“But you would be delighted by my presence?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean if you’re going to be so cocky about it…”

“Just tell me the date, time, and dress code and I’ll be there.”

“With bells on?”

“Maybe not with bells on.”

“But it’s a Christmas party.”

“Alright, maybe with bells on.”

They looked at each other and then away, as if they both did not know what to say. “Good night,” Hermione said at last.

“Good night, Hermione,” he replied, offering her a look at that rare smile. She could not help herself. She pulled him into a hug and held on tight. She could feel him tense in her arms. Alright, maybe he was not such a fan of hugs.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this out before Christmas since that's around when this takes place but the stress of the holiday season was too much for me. But finally the stress has abated and I can be creative again! :) Thank you for all the kudos and comments too, means a lot to me.

When Hermione had seen that Phaedra had put an appointment on her calendar to “Discuss Stag/Hen Parties,” she realized that the woman was made of stronger stuff than she had previously thought. Or maybe she was not as bright as she seemed. One, for even suggesting wild parties to her and Severus and two, for continuing to pretend that Hermione did not know. This would not continue for long, however, as Hermione had plans to rectify the situation.

Hermione knocked on her door and was greeted with a chipper “come in.” Phaedra looked stunning as per usual, only this time her chestnut brown hair lay in a flat, shimmering sheet down her back. Hermione smiled wolfishly. Perfect.

“Oh, Phaedra, your hair looks so pretty today,” Hermione cooed. “Ron always liked my straight. Is that why you did it? For him?”

For her impertinent questioning, Hermione was rewarded with a flinch. A good sign, she thought. 

“Hermione, can I just start by saying that I am truly sorry you had to find out in such a way—”

Hermione snorted. “More like, you are sorry that I ever found out at all. Were you ever going to tell me? Was anyone ever going to tell me? Or would you all just go to your graves betraying my trust?”

Phaedra clasped her hands together on top of her desk. “I will never be able to understand what you are going through right now but let me tell you from the bottom of my heart that I did want to tell you. But it wasn’t my decision to make.”

“Whose decision was it then? If not yours?” Phaedra looked uncomfortable. Had someone sworn her to secrecy? Hermione wanted to slam her fists onto the table and demand answers but she knew even that would not get her what she wanted. “And why, Phaedra? Why was any of this obfuscation necessary?”

Phaedra bit her lip and Hermione was annoyed that she could see herself in the woman opposite her. “We had a job to do, Hermione. We couldn’t get messy feelings in between us and doing our job.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Messy feelings, Phaedra? This whole thing is a mess.”

“I know. And that’s why I wanted us to do a good job. If anyone can fix this mess, it’s you.” Hermione could admit she had not expected that as an answer. Was Phaedra now trying to flatter Hermione into standing down?

Then Hermione was once more surprised when she heard the buzz of enchantments. Either Phaedra was doing magic under her desk or she was doing it wandlessly. In any case, Phaedra had not said the incantation aloud. Hermione was impressed but did remember that Phaedra had been sorted into Ravenclaw.

“If anyone can overturn this law, it’s you.”

Whatever Hermione had expected when she strode into this room, words of encouragement were not among them. She also did not know if she could trust Phaedra, who had been lying to her this entire time. Could this be a ploy as well?

“You don’t believe me,” Phaedra said, looking at Hermione.

“And why should I believe you?” Did this woman really have the nerve to demand trust from Hermione? When her trust had certainly not been earned? “I’m sure you had a great laugh after our shopping sprees.”

Phaedra flinched again. “Hermione, why do you think I’m marrying Ron?”

“Why are you changing the subject?”

“I know you Gryffindors aren’t known for your patience, but I swear, I’m getting to it.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Fine. No, I have no idea why you’re marrying Ron.”

“Ron and I weren’t dating long when I heard whispers about the law being passed. Don’t you see? How long have you two been apart? He didn’t propose me after months of us being together and talking about it and deciding this was the best for us. He proposed to me because he was trying to protect me.”

“And someone or some group of people didn’t want me to know this? That he was protecting you?”

Phaedra looked uncomfortable again. She looked like she was thinking very hard of what to say. To get around secrecy spells? Either she was a very good actress or she actually had been placed under one, or maybe a few. “There are meetings you don’t go to. And decisions are made that I don’t exactly agree to. Like shopping trips.” That last bit looked painful to get out.

Hermione nodded, catching her meaning. Who was in these meetings? Were they all plotting her downfall? Was Kingsley? Phaedra probably would not be able to tell her that either. But if Phaedra thought a successful wedding would help Hermione, help their cause, perhaps Kingsley was not in fact out to get her.

“Listen, Hermione, if our positions were reversed, I would not trust me either. But I can help you.”

“And what? You couldn’t help me before?”

“Well, I’ve been trying. But now you know, I can do even more.” Phaedra must have correctly interpreted Hermione’s look as skepticism because she added, “Like this meeting. The powers that be have told me that you both need to have a party.”

“No, absolutely not. He will hate that.” Hermione was finally putting her foot down for Severus and honestly, it felt good.

“I know. I know. And that’s why I brought you here to discuss it. What can we do?” Hermione eyed Phaedra suspiciously. “I also know you don’t trust me. But I would like to do this for you—and him, of course—and I can’t do that without you helping me.”

“Alright. What sort of thing did you have in mind?”

“Just do what we always do: we could fake it.”

“I’m listening,” Hermione said.

“Well, just stage it. Invite people out, give them a couple of props, and I’ll bring the photographers.”

“I don’t understand. How is this different than anything you’ve done before?”

“For once, I just wanted you fully onboard. I want you to pick the venues and the people coming.”

Hermione sat back in her seat, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. She had not always hated that Phaedra had done all of the planning. She was busy with other stuff to really mind that aspect anyway. “I trust your judgment,” Hermione said reluctantly after a moment’s hesitation. “But please don’t tell me they expect you to go crazy. Why would that ever be beneficial?” Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel a migraine coming on. “Don’t tell me they want strippers or some such thing. He will not go for that.” Or maybe he would. Hermione did not really know him.

“No, no. Don’t worry about that. I just wanted to tell you. And actually I more wanted to talk to you.”

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“I know you would be more likely to listen if you thought it would help your fiancé but to be honest, I am more worried about your hen party.”

Hermione thought about who would be in attendance at the stag party. This time for sure she was sure she felt a headache coming on. “Oh, I really don’t want to talk about that.”

“I know. I really do.” Hermione looked at Phaedra. What did she know of her? Really, truly? “It’s my job to know.”

“Well, then you would know I definitely don’t want to have to talk to Ginny.”

“She was… told not to tell you.” Hermione could read between the lines. The implication was that Ron had instructed Ginny not to tell her. Maybe that’s why she was so understanding of not hearing from Hermione in a while, because she did not want to have to confront Hermione about it anyway.

“And you’re such good friends, aren’t you?” Hermione said, mostly joking but she realized there could be some truth to that. Phaedra had known to invite Ginny to the dress fitting and Ginny had called her a nickname. She had thought they might have known each other from school or something.

“No. We’re not. I am surprised she tolerates me at all when I know she would much rather have you for a sister.”

Hermione could feel her heart sink a little. No! This was a trick. How could she feel sorry for the woman who had stolen her fiancé. Well, no, that was a bit harsh. She did not steal him. As far as Hermione knew they had not even known each other when Hermione and Ron were still together.

Moreover, Ron wasn’t her fiancé anymore. Her fiancé was Severus. She had not been with Ron for almost a year. What was wrong with her? Was that some kind of failure on her part? Especially since he seemed so invested in them. Her stomach roiled. Was she a bad person?

“Well, if she’s still upset about it that’s her problem,” Hermione said with a sarcastic laugh. “That ship has long since sailed and neither she nor you nor anyone else,” the implication being that anyone else was Ron, “should worry about it.”

“Well, I’m not worried, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“Okay… and yet you’re the one who volunteered me and you’re the one who made sure Severus was approved by everyone else in the ministry.”

“I did that because I wanted someone who was your choice! I didn’t want you to be with someone who wouldn’t treat you well.”

“How would… wait a minute. That’s how you knew. Ron told you. Ron told you I visited him at St. Mungo’s. Ron has been feeding you information about me all this time!”

“I’m not trying to ruin your life, Hermione Granger! I’m sorry if it looks that way. I am just trying to do my job and do right by you. Not everything revolves around you, by the way. No, I’m not worried about you stealing Ron because not only do I know you have no interest in him but I know for a fact he loves me. So are we going to act like professionals and help me plan your hen party or what?”

Hermione sat back in her chair, utterly shell-shocked. She had never expected such an outburst from mild-mannered Phaedra, queen of perfection. “Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “I will cooperate.”

Phaedra let out a giant smile, setting her elbows on the table, and resting her head in her hands. “I am glad we can agree.”

* * *

Before she left the meeting, Phaedra gave Hermione some final assignments to complete before the wedding. One of which was for Hermione was to visit with her mother and father to help them decide what they would like to wear. Hermione was also supposed to ask if one of them would be willing to do a speech at the reception. She had to double-check that her dad would walk her down the aisle and whether there would be a father-daughter dance. These seemed like sure things but she still had to be _sure-sure_.

Hermione had known that Severus would not want to come, would find the whole affair tedious and boring, so she had not even bother asking him. And she would be seeing him soon enough for more dance lessons.

Hermione walked up to their front door and knocked.

“Hermione!” her mother said, pulling her in for a tight hug. “So good to see you.” Her mother made a show of looking around. “But where is your tall, mysterious friend?”

“Severus, mum. His name is Severus. And… he’s got other plans,” Hermione lied. She did not want them to know that this was not a social call, but rather to iron out details of the wedding. But she did not need to say that to her parents’ faces.

“Oh, that’s too bad. He’s such great company. Well, tell him we missed him.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, absent-mindedly taking off her coat. Then she remembered that she did not have her scarf. Her mother would be so upset if she knew it was missing. Hermione took a careful look at her mother’s face but she had already left to go into the kitchen.

“Wine, dear?” her mother called from the other room.

Hermione accepted and joined her parents in the kitchen. Severus’s teetotaling was rubbing off on her but she would always make an exception for dealing with her parents. They put her on edge in ways that would probably take years of therapy sessions to unpack.

“So, how is it going dear?” her mum asked cutting herself some cheese.

Hermione had gotten this question before. She knew “it” meant the wedding and not any other aspect of her life.

“It’s great, mum. I mean I have a lot of help.” Understatement of the century. “So I sort of just have to approve things.”

“That’s wonderful for you though! So busy. You were too busy to plan your last wedding as well.” Hermione’s lip twitched at the insinuation but she tried to keep her features even. She would not allow herself to be provoked.

“I just wish I could be involved, dear,” Hermione’s mother said, taking another piece of cheese. “I had always fantasized about the day I would get to see my beautiful daughter walking down the aisle, her hand on your arm, honey,” she said, looking at Hermione’s father. “I just know I am going to cry like a baby. Are Severus’s parents attending? Will they see me being a blubbery mess?”

Hermione bristled at the question, which, admittedly, was fairly tame and innocuous. “No,” she said. “They’re dead.”

She had gathered as much from scant conversations with her fiancé but she was not clear on the details. If he did not want to share, it was probably particularly painful and she was not going to make him relive that trauma.

“Oh, how dreadful! Harold, aren’t we blessed that our parents are still alive?” Hermione’s father nodded. “Though I can’t say the same about your mother.”

“Mum!” Hermione said.

“What? She never thought I was good enough for her darling Harry. And maybe I’m not.” Hermione could understand that sentiment all too well. “But is anyone?”

Hermione certainly felt that way right now. She did not feel deserving of someone who would tolerate all of this and still want to be friends with her. Or more than friends. It was all very confusing.

“Were they killed by the you-know-whos?” Hermione knew exactly what her mum was saying when she said “you-know-whos.” She was confusing the Death Eaters with Voldemort’s name. She had a habit of doing that a lot.

“You mean the Dead Eaters, dear?” Her father asked.

“No, that’s not right,” her mother responded.

They went back and forth on this for a while before Hermione interrupted their quibbling. “Death Eaters,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Ha!” Her father said. “I was right.”

“No, you weren’t. You said ‘Dead Eaters.’”

“I was close enough,” he shot back. “Closer than you.”

“Well, anyway, Hermione, were they?”

Hermione stared at her mother trying to parse the question. What had they been talking about again? Oh, yes, how Severus’s parents had died. Lovely.

“I don’t know,” she said, fiddling with her wine glass. She also didn’t know if she should mention that Severus was also a former Death Eater. It was one thing to bring home a man with a tattoo, it was another thing entirely to bring home a man with a tattoo and a past in a terrorist group. She was sure she must have mentioned his heel turn at some point but she wasn’t sure if they remembered it now.

“It hasn’t come up in conversation? What _do_ you talk about?” her mother asked.

“We don’t talk much, mum. It’s a fake relationship, remember? We don’t actually have to know each other.” But those words felt hollow. She could hear the echo as they bounced around her ears. Empty. Ringing false.

“But still you must have asked him, ‘Hey, are your parents coming? Oh, they’re dead. Why’s that?’ Simple, really.”

“How is that simple? ‘Hey, do you want to talk about trauma, right here, right now, with someone you don’t really know?’”

“How are you ever going to expect your relationship to last if you’re not going to communicate?”

Hermione wanted to remind her mother that the point of this relationship was not to last but she realized how wrong that would also sound.

“How do you think our relationship lasted so long?” her mother asked. “Through all the tough times? Let me tell you. It was not easy finding out our daughter was a witch.”

Hermione wanted to protest that she had not asked to be a witch but her father finally spoke up. “I would say there are three things to keep a relationship going—”

“Three?” Her mother interjected. “There aren’t four?”

“No, I remember it. It’s three.” Her father began counting on his fingers. “One: self-awareness. Am I aware of how I’m feeling and of my actions? And how these are affecting my partner? Two: reciprocation. In addition to ensuring my own needs are met, are my partner’s needs also being met? Three: emotional control. Am I going to fly off the handle when something goes wrong or am I going to take a step back and assess the situation before I create lasting harm?”

Hermione nodded absent-mindedly. She was used to her father going on long-winded rants.

“Oh, where did you learn that, dear? The Sunday paper?” her mother asked.

“No, I’ve learned it through life experience, through dealing with you.”

“Dealing with me?”

“No, not dealing. Living. Enjoying.”

They went on like that for some time. And in between their bouts of friendly jabs, Hermione was able to get in her bullet points and questions. Her dad had been insulted that she had even asked if he would do his fatherly duties. Her mum wasn’t sure she would be able to fit the color scheme but Hermione told her magic would be able to fix anything.

She hugged them good night and her mum planted a big kiss on her head which made her feel like a little kid again. But she was an adult, making adult decisions, that had lasting impacts on the rest of her life. That’s what being an adult meant though, right? Making the tough decisions and suffering through the consequences of those decisions.

* * *

Another night, another “date” with Severus. She had told him that she really did need more dancing lessons if she was ever not going to embarrass them and probably keen to not be embarrassed by her, he agreed. He also did genuinely seem to love cooking for Hermione, a happy fringe benefit, since she would hate to be an imposition.

“Back for more free food?” he asked when he opened the door for her.

“Ha,” she responded. “I thought we already established I’m paying for this meal by selling my soul.”

“If that’s what you think marriage is then you have no business getting married,” he said. Hermione probably did not have any business getting married. Suddenly finding it hard to look at the man, she cast her eyes downward and saw he was wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron. Probably an accident. She shouldn’t look too much into it.

“Tell me about it,” Hermione said, slipping off her coat and handing it to him. She was once again reminded what it was like to have a light, friendly sparring partner, as opposed to a nasty one like Percy. Plus, it was nice to have someone to share inside jokes with. “Smells good,” she added.

“Made it just for you.”

“Brussels sprouts?”

“No, broccoli,” Severus said, looking anxious all of sudden.

“Ah, my other favorite cruciferous vegetable,” she said, trying to put his worries at ease.

“You’re just saying that,” he responded. His mouth quirking into a smile. “You don’t have a favorite cruciferous vegetables.”

“You got me there. I like all of them.”

“Even kale?” he asked.

“Well… no, but I thought that was a given. _No one_ likes kale.”

“Am I no one then?” he asked, his smile turning impish.

“You like kale?”

“Yes. I even grow it in my garden.”

“We always knew you were a freak.”

“So, what does that make you?”

“Mrs. Freak,” she said wryly.

Hermione watched as Severus looked away, to hide his embarrassment or whatever else, Hermione did not know. She had been joking. Was he dreading it as much as she was?

“You know, it still doesn’t feel real,” Hermione said as they sat down to eat. She did not know however if this would perhaps make him feel better or upset him more. She was trying to do the latter but one never knew. “I mean, as real as a fake marriage can feel.”

Severus nodded but his gaze was distant. “I know what you mean. Feels like this will go on forever.”

Even though it felt like it, nothing was permanent. She had thought she and Ron were an inevitability but look how that had turned out. The only thing that did seem unchanging and fixed was her miserable position at work. But hopefully that would soon be improving as well.

“I know. The wedding is less than a month away.”

* * *

“And on my birthday too.”

Hermione stopped sawing at her meat—had he cooked it too long?—to look at Severus. “The wedding is on your birthday?!” she asked barely hiding her incredulity.

“Ah, yes, sorry I didn’t mention it sooner. I was caught off guard.”

“Oh, wow, I am truly very sorry that your birthday is being overshadowed by such… foolishness.”

“On the contrary, this is shaping up to be my most exciting birthday yet. When have I ever gotten married on my birthday before?” And to someone so charming and intelligent, he thought.

He and Hermione shared an awkward silence. She was probably feeling bad that she did not know it was his birthday but then again how was she supposed to know? It was not like they had exchanged details. 

“When’s your birthday?” he asked.

“September nineteenth.”

Severus nodded. “So you’re a Virgo?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just making conversation.”

“Good. I hope you’re not making value judgments on me based on pseudoscience.”

“Nonsense. But I am a Capricorn so that makes us both earth signs.”

“Does that mean we are compatible?”

Severus smiled despite himself. “I thought you thought it was all fake.”

“Yes, but what does your fake science say about our fake relationship?”

“That I don’t know,” he responded. “You’ll have to ask Professor Trelawney.”

Severus did not realize how hard he was smiling until he felt the ache in his jaw. He probably looked like a fool so he dropped that immediately and returned his gaze to his dinner. Hermione, probably feeling similarly awkward, mirrored his actions.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Hermione said, setting her fork down. “Phaedra tried to tell me that she has always been on our side and was not working with Percy to take me down. I don’t know if I believe her though.”

Severus was thoughtful for a moment. “It is a possibility. Though I understand why you would be hesitant to trust her. I myself have some doubts.”

“I know. I feel it in my gut that she has to be up to no good. But I also can’t think of any instance of her sabotaging us outright.”

Severus snorted. “What about our forced forays into lingerie? Did she have an explanation for that?”

“She explained that she had been forced to do that. I mean, that could very easily have been a lie to cover her ass. How many people did Voldemort’s bidding willingly but pretended to have been Imperiused?”

Severus pursed his lips. “I honestly don’t know what to tell you Hermione except constant vigilance,” he said, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. Hermione laughed. He had known she would get the reference. But then she looked thoughtful and sad all at once. Like Severus, she was probably remembering their fallen friend and feeling the unmistakable sting that came along with it.

Yes, the sting lessened each time, but it was ever present. Like the ghost of someone else. Though he realized he had been feeling her presence less and less.

After dinner Severus once again found himself in his living room with Hermione in his arms. It really was so enjoyable to be close to her. And she was a charming dancing partner, if not a particularly skilled one. That was all that really mattered anyway, right? That he found her conversation stimulating?

He could not help but find her cute when she scrunched up her face in concentration or when she scolded herself for stepping on his foot again. He kept telling her that it was not the end of the world if they messed up their first dance. He wanted to add because he hoped there would be many more after that one but he also thought that might sound too desperate. Even if their relationship was evolving, there was no reason to assume they would stay that way forever. People got divorced, and probably even more so after fake marriages, though Severus had no data to back this up.

“You know, Hermione,” he said, trying to interrupt his own thoughts, “I can flail about miserably and then it will look like you’re the poor soul who has to dance with the unfortunate man with two left feet.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Hermione chided. “Besides I am so close to getting this down.”

Severus smiled and squeezed her hand. “You’re right. Sorry I doubted you.” Though truthfully he hoped she would take longer to master the dance so that he could keep dancing with her for as many nights before the wedding.

“We _will_ have our first dance and it _will_ be executed flawlessly,” Hermione said, fumbling a step. “Mark my words.”

But Severus barely heard her as he got lost in the music, the smell of her hair, and the feeling of her soft hand in his. If only they could stay like this forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brassica (/ˈbræsɪkə/) is a genus of plants in the mustard family (Brassicaceae). The members of the genus are informally known as cruciferous vegetables, cabbages, or mustard plants. Crops from this genus are sometimes called cole crops—derived from the Latin caulis, denoting the stem or stalk of a plant. The genus Brassica is known for its important agricultural and horticultural crops and includes a number of weeds, both of wild taxa and escapees from cultivation. Brassica species and varieties commonly used for food include broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, choy sum, rutabaga, turnip and some seeds used in the production of canola oil and the condiment mustard. Almost all parts of some species or other have been developed for food, including the root (rutabaga, turnip), stems (kohlrabi), leaves (cabbage, collard greens, kale), flowers (cauliflower, broccoli), buds (Brussels sprouts, cabbage), and seeds (many, including mustard seed, and oil-producing rapeseed).


	22. Chapter 22

_Hermione was in a large, octagonal room. The walls were covered to floor-to-ceiling wainscoting. A ballroom. The lights were casting eerie shadows about the room. She looked up to see a candle-lit chandelier dangling from the ornately molded ceiling. As soon as she got a good look at the chandelier, it began to spin. And then she realized that it was not the chandelier that was moving, but her. She was spinning faster and faster. She was dancing, dancing in someone’s arms. She looked down from the chandelier. It was Severus. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as he smiled at her. He looked so much like an angel when he smiled at her._

_Then, just as quickly as they had started, they stopped. Hermione felt dizzy from it. He bent towards her and she curved to meet him. But still, the dizziness remained._

_Something bright caught her eye. Her gold wedding dress was shimmering, at first, like a sparkle and then like a star, a ray of light. It almost hurt to look at it. In fact it felt like it was burning her eyes. Soon she felt hot. She looked up from dress to the see the room around her burning._

_She looked further up. The chandelier was charred and the ceiling seemed to be about to cave in. Severus was gone. She put her arms over her head, bracing herself from impact. But instead of being crushed, a wave of water swept into the room. She held her breath but she was soon swept away along with the debris. Soon the water was filling her lungs. She tried to scream out to him but no one was around to hear a thing. Where had he gone?_

Hermione woke with a start, her heart pounding. It was only a dream, she kept telling herself. A manifestation of her anxiety about the wedding and everything going wrong. Her dreams were often like that, when she was nervous.

She hopped out of bed, eager to think of anything else, and prepared for work like normal. Although, she remembered belatedly, today was not a normal day. It was the day of the stupid Christmas party. Well, if it was still happening. It had been on her calendar for awhile now but usually Percy gave her the thankless job of planning for it. She had not heard of the party being cancelled, so someone must have taken up her mantle.

Hermione took another look at her closet. Ought she wear something special? Since Severus would be coming? She had no idea what would be considered special for today. Red? She would never dress up for a holiday party at work; it just was not her style. She sighed and looked one final time. Did she have time to change before work and the party? Considering her busy schedule, she probably did not.

She shrugged on a cardigan over her dress shirt to protect against the winter air. It was normally pleasantly warm within the Ministry but she knew Percy messed with the temperature inside their office just to make her uncomfortable. Layers allowed her to somewhat compensate for that.

After a mercifully quick trip to the café, Hermione dropped Percy’s coffee on his desk with a thud. “By the way, I saw they had peppermint syrup so I asked them to add some to yours.”

“Why?” Percy asked, acting like it was poison and not just flavoring.

Hermione shrugged. “I thought it would be nice. Besides, it’s Christmas, sir” she said, feeling distinctly like the Bob Cratchit to Percy’s Scrooge. Hermione smiled. If only Percy would be haunted by a quartet of ghosts so he would change his miserable ways.

Percy made a big gesture of looking at his calendar. “No, it is not.”

“Well, the party is today, in case you forgot.”

“Forget the party?” he asked, a mischievous smile crossing his lips. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Yes, Percy definitely knew something Hermione did not. Her stomach churned at the thought. What did he have up his sleeve?

“Have a good rest of your morning, sir,” she said, pretending to be ignorant and maybe wishing she was. How was she supposed to work in these conditions? And why did she keep having to ask herself this? If she were smarter, perhaps she would realize this was a sign.

Meetings, meetings, more meetings. Hermione kept forgetting and re-remembering what today was. Whenever she did remember, she would tense her shoulders and clench her jaw until she could convince herself that it would not be _that_ bad. It was not like she was going to die, after all, despite what her body was telling her. Although perhaps that was what Percy was planning. She would not put it past him at this point.

She finished her day in Phaedra’s office. When she entered, she was greeted with the sight of a variety of cake slices sitting on the desk. Hermione had never been much of a cake person. But she supposed she was amenable to trying, especially considering she could not avoid it by asking for a different dessert--what sort of wedding didn’t have a cake?--like she had done for all of her birthday parties growing up. Besides, like all other aspects of this wedding, she would just have to settle for whatever was put in front of her.

Phaedra, for her part, did not look as terrified of Hermione as she had during their last encounter. And while Hermione’s outward opinion of the woman was softening a bit, she still carried that suspicion deep within her. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” Phaedra said, rubbing her hands together.

Hermione was not, in fact, hungry at all. She had gotten lunch to stretch her legs but even then she had not been very hungry and only picked at her sandwich. Not only did her nerves affect her appetite, but she was more sleep-deprived than usual which also messed with her eating.

Phaedra pushed the first cake slice in front of Hermione. White cake with buttercream frosting. She cut a piece with a proffered fork which she hoped would be big enough to satisfy her colleague. Hermione chewed it and pretended to look thoughtful. It was okay. A little sweet for her taste but Hermione swallowed, “Mmm,” she said rotely, bringing the second piece closer to her.

“That one is chocolate with ganache.” Obviously Hermione could tell it was chocolate. And she did not care about the frosting. That was the worst part, in her opinion. In fact, was it possible to have a cake without frosting? She mused on the thought of how well it would fly if her guests showed up to eat the dryest cake ever. Her parents, however, might enjoy that.

Still, she took a polite bite and let out a louder moan. She already knew which Phaedra would want her to pick so she kept her largest reaction for that final piece of cake. It was dumb really that she was dragged into this thing but maybe Phaedra had assumed Hermione would want to eat some cake in the middle of the day. The way her stomach was lurching told Hermione that she definitely did not.

“Finally, a mix of the two,” Phaedra said. Hermione had known that this was the one Phaedra would want her to choose because based on the flecks of gold and silver in the frosting, Hermione could tell it fit the rest of the theming.

“Oh, wow,” Hermione said. “This is definitely the one.” She had barely chewed the piece and probably still had food in her mouth when she spoke but Hermione did not care.

“You like it?” a pleased smile curling Phaedra’s lips. “It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”

Hermione let the taste of the cake sit in her mouth a bit longer. Maybe it was Phaedra’s prodding, but that had been better than the others, hadn’t it? Tentatively she reached her fork out to take another bite. Yes. It was spongy and bright.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.” Hermione nodded. “You can have the rest of it,” Phaedra said, smiling brightly.

At first Hermione felt embarrassed by her sudden weakness for the dessert but she threw that care out the window Phaedra was so lucky to have and began tucking in in earnest.

“Not many days now…” Phaedra said, making conversation. “Nervous?” Hermione nodded. She was not going to talk with her mouth open again. “I must admit I am a little excited to see everything come together. I have been working so hard that it will be nice to finally see the fruit of my labors.”

“Sorry about that,” Hermione said, suddenly feeling guilty. Where had that come from? “I suppose I should have helped more.”

Phaedra shocked Hermione by reaching to grasp her hand. “No, Hermione. You never asked for this. And I think they will let me reuse some of the decorations for my own wedding.”

Hermione winced but not for the reason she would have initially thought. She knew the Weasleys did not have much money. Phaedra’s family was an unknown. And why should Hermione get to have extravagant dream wedding? And this woman, who had worked so hard--though towards what end?--might deserve something nice of her own.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I knew I should have not brought it up.” If Phaedra was talking about it to purposely mess with Hermione’s head, she did not appear to be. She looked genuinely remorseful.

“No, it’s fine. If I’m being honest, your getting married does not bother me. It’s just… I feel so undeserving of all this. I know Percy told me I should feel grateful. If I do get remarried too, it will pale in comparison to your hard work.”

Phaedra blushed. She actually blushed at Hermione’s measly, little compliment.

“I had to plan the Christmas party tonight too. Let’s hope that goes well.” That explains it. The party must have been foisted on Phaedra.

“As long as men keep to their wives, I think you can consider it a total success,” Hermione said, remembering disastrous parties of years’ past. Phaedra laughed. It was not funny really to think about how inappropriate their colleagues could be but they could not do much but laugh.

“What are you wearing, by the way?” Phaedra asked. “I have it narrowed down to three dresses myself.”

“Oh, I was just going to wear this,” she said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Then Phaedra made a face to make her feel even worse. “What?”

“It’s just…” Phaedra began.

“This is what I always wear. Nothing fancy.”

“Well… this year is a little different.”

“Don’t tell me there’s going to be press there,” Hermione groaned.

Phaedra bit her lip. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you…”

“Why are you not supposed to tell me? I thought we were going to trust each other from now on! Does everyone want to make me look like an ass?”

“They thought you would be less nervous if you didn’t know you were being photographed.”

“I thought we were done! I thought we had all of the necessary photo-ops.”

“The outlets can’t get enough of you. You are printing them money. It’s funny, actually. I think you might have screwed yourself selecting Professor Snape. People are still confused and scandalized by the whole thing so they want to learn more and more.”

Hermione groaned. “You helped. I would have never thought to mention the part of me saving his life.”

“Does he know, by the way?” Phaedra asked, trying to look uninterested, but Hermione could tell she was dying to know.

“Yes,” Hermione said, her tone clipped. “He does.”

“And he’s still around? Wow, he must really like you,” Phaedra said. She gave Hermione a conspicuous once-over.

“Oh, it’s not like that! You and Percy are the worst with your insinuations,” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms.

“Well, what I said still stands. I may not know him as well as you, but I did study under him and he doesn’t seem like the type to accept help.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. He was only nice to me in the beginning because he found out.”

“Whatever you say, Hermione.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We’re good friends.”

“You forget I’ve seen the pictures. Do ‘good friends,’ as you call it, kiss like that?”

“Listen to yourself! You’re believing your own drivel. It’s all an act, remember?” Hermione said to Phaedra as much as to herself.

It was Phaedra’s turn to roll her eyes. And Merlin, did she relish the act of turning her eyes around in her skull. It was lavish. Hermione was annoyed by it. But also thought it was kind of funny. Goodness, were they becoming friends now? Toxic, backstabbing friends?

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, that’s fine by me. I’m just telling you what I saw. I would hate for you to be blindsided.”

“Blindsided by what?”

“Your feelings for each other! Isn’t it obvious? You looked in the locket, didn’t you? What did you see?”

“Let’s get back to talking about clothes. I am not dressed well enough, you’re saying?”

Phaedra had another wicked look on her face.

* * *

When Hermione looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, she was unsure. She was ostentatious. A sleeveless--sleeveless! in winter--gold dress with big round sequins. The skirt of the dress also did not hit her knees.

“You want Gove to have a heart attack? I am naked!”

“You’re not naked. Calm down.”

“I’m not going to get in trouble?”

Phaedra held her hand over her heart. “I promise this is fine. You will not get in trouble. And if someone makes a fuss, talk to me.”

“This is intentional, isn’t it?” Hermione said. “You want to make a scene at the party because it’s a good story.”

Phaedra knitted her brows together. “I am sorry that this is all becoming so muddled for you. I should have realized this would happen. I am just trying to let you have a good time so I lent you one of my party dresses.”

“This is your dress? This is what you wear? To parties?” Hermione had never been to a party before in her life. Work Christmas parties did not count.

“Well, less so now that I am engaged to be married, but yes… Why? Are you judging me?”

It was Hermione’s turn to look embarrassed. “I’ve never been to a real party before. It’s not that I think they are below me. It’s just… I have not really had an opportunity to go to one.”

“Well,” Phaedra said, adjusting the bodice of Hermione’s dress. Her cold fingers made Hermione shiver involuntarily. “Tonight is not something I would consider a party, per se, but feel free to treat it as such. At least in your mind. Don’t go too crazy though. Your boss will be there.”

* * *

Hermione walked upstairs to the party area after she had submitted a paper for approval. On this occasion she was thankful for the lack of staircases in the Ministry; she could not imagine trudging up stairs in the ridiculous heels Phaedra had let her borrow. It was odd that they were the same size, since Hermione would not have thought they were, but it was more likely that Phaedra had magically resized everything she had given to Hermione.

The party was in full swing when Hermione pushed open the door. The magical Christmas classics were playing but they were still not as nostalgic for her as the muggle ones she had grown up with. They certainly were not as easy to dance to as Jingle Bell Rock. She looked around. She and Severus had decided to come separately since they would both be working and he had become well-enough acquainted with the layout of the Ministry. But currently Severus was nowhere to be found.

The bar however was in full view and she had two drink tickets and as well as Severus’s two drink tickets. And since he didn’t drink, she actually had four drink tickets. There was no way she was getting through the night sober. Hermione sidled up to the mini bar and ordered a vodka cranberry soda but mostly because it was sweet enough for her and she had heard once that cranberry juice prevented urinary tract infections. Although who knew if that was still true once the cranberry juice was mixed with alcohol. Not that she had to worry about those in her current state.

She sipped appreciatively at the cold drink. Despite the tiny dress, she was burning up. Although alcohol was certainly not going to fix that.

“Someone cleans up nice,” Percy said, giving Hermione a once-over that made her skin crawl.

“Thanks. Your future sister-in-law did me up.” Before she gave Percy enough time to fully process what she had just said, Hermione said, “Where’s Penelope?” Hermione made an exaggerated show of looking around the room. “I don’t see her.”

Percy scowled at her over his horn rim glasses. “She’s not feeling well. Pregnancy is not agreeing with her.”

“Ah, forgive me; I did not know. Guess that is what happens when you are excommunicated from the family. But nevertheless… congratulations are in order. I have an extra drink ticket; should we toast to your good fortune?” Percy curled his lip at her. “An early success of the marriage law?” Hermione said before taking a big sip of her vodka cranberry. She looked at him innocently over the rim of her glass.

“Where’s your beau? He is going to show, isn’t he? Or has he grown tired of your buffoonery?”

Hermione snorted. Percy had insulted her many times before but he had never resorted to calling her a buffoon. In the past she might have been truly hurt but now she had to stop herself from laughing. This whole operation was an act of buffoonery. She might deserve the title but that also meant he was deserving of it as well.

“He’s a big boy. He can handle coming to the Ministry himself.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “If you say so. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to rub elbows with people who will actually advance my career.”

He left Hermione alone in a sea of people. Everyone else was engaged in little conversations of their own, with groups of five to seven people all talking and laughing excitedly. She looked around in what she hoped would be a discreet manner to find a group she could squeeze into.

She took a sip of her vodka cranberry. Her nose was met with ice but no liquid travelled past her lips. Frowning she stared into her cup and shook it. There was no more drink left. They had probably stiffed her since the Ministry was trying to save money. Maybe if they wanted to save more money they could stop wasting time and resources on extravagant weddings. That might be a start.

Hermione returned to the bar. The bartender asked if she wanted another to which she nodded. She reached into her clutch to look for her money--really, dresses were the worst when they didn’t have pockets--and handed the bartender a sickle. If he was going to keep having to see Hermione throughout the night, he more than deserved a tip.

“Hey,” she heard from beside her. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up. In truth she had been hoping Severus would sidle up beside her all sexy-like--wait, what?--at the bar but she knew that voice and that was not Severus.

 _Ron_. Despite how she might act around Phaedra, talking to the man himself was another beast entirely. She gripped her drink tightly in her hand as if it might act as a shield against bad feelings and memories.

“Hello,” she said, trying to sound blasé. Did she care that Ron was standing beside her? No, it was not a big deal at all. They had broken up months ago. And they were both engaged. This was fine.

But when she turned to look at him, look into his blue eyes, she remembered the hundreds of owls that she had wanted to send him, tell him all of the ways she had fucked up, to curse him out, but mostly to tell him she was sorry, of all things. But her tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of her mouth. She could not form words. It was like she had forgotten all of that grief.

“Can we talk?” he asked. Hermione nodded. “Somewhere private?”

She was about to move to follow him somewhere when she felt someone at her elbow. “Mr. Weasley,” she heard, like a growl in her ear. Uh-oh. Severus had arrived. She hoped that this would not look as bad to him as it probably looked to her.

“Professor Snape,” Ron said, mimicking Severus’s formal tone but barely concealing his distaste. In another situation she might be flattered by this show of machismo, but now, in a huge party where cameras were hidden, it was a big inconvenience.

“Severus,” Hermione said, pulling him close to herself in a sort of embrace. “I just need to talk to Ron for one moment. We’ll be right back.”

“Severus?” Ron said, raising a brow. He looked between herself and Severus a second time.

“Yes, what do you expect me to call him?” Hermione asked, growing more annoyed by the whole conversation.

“I dunno. I guess I expected if you wanted to get his attention, you would raise your hand and flail it around.”

“That is not funny, Ronald. I’m not as sure if I want to talk to you anymore.”

“C’mon, Mione. I just need one word.”

Hermione looked to Severus who was giving Ron the meanest look she had ever seen. But when he caught her staring, Hermione could see the concern in her eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, handing him her cup and clutch. He stared at it in confusion before giving her a look Hermione could not quite parse. Huh. She thought she had become an expert--well, more of an expert--at decoding Severus’s moods. Was it a note of hurt that she detected? Why would that be? Did she not say “hi” long enough to him before she went off with Ron? No, it was probably because she was leaving him alone in a party with people he did not know well.

Damn. That was probably it. There was probably nothing worse than being in a social situation around people you do not know well. Hermione could relate. She shuddered beside Ron and they both sort of led each other to a conference room. Odd. How familiar was Ron with the layout of this part of the Ministry? Did he meet here for illicit trysts for Phaedra? Hermione might have laughed at the idea but then she remembered the incident in Phaedra’s office.

Wow. She had heard Ron’s laugh and she couldn’t place it? She really must be moving on if that were the case. Hermione stood up straighter. She could do this.

Ron opened the door and motioned for her to go inside. Hermione obliged. She heard a click and the telltale sound of wards going up. Man, what kind of conversation would they be having?

“So... Professor Snape,” Ron said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Yep,” Hermione responded noncommittally. She could not even stick her hands in her pockets because her stupid small dress did not have any. So she just sort of rubbed her hands against the sequined material.

“Is that--?” Ron said, looking down at her anxious hands.

“Yes, this is Phaedra’s dress. She lent it to me.”

Ron nodded before changing the subject. “I always thought there was something weird between you and Snape. Why else would you spend so much time at his sickbed?”

Hermione scrunched her face. “No. You’re mistaken. I was just trying to do the right thing.”

“It wasn’t boring? And at that point, the mediwitches and mediwizards were already taking good care of him. You did not have to be there. Forgive me for wondering if there was something else at play.”

“You seem to forget, Ron, that you and Harry were deep in your auror training. I didn’t have… anything.”

“What are you talking about? Kingsley gave you that offer to work under him.”

Hermione shook her head vigorously. “I was going through a rough time. I was feeling deeply alone and directionless. And you and Harry, you had found something, and I was just spending my days all alone. Visiting him was the only way I got out of the house. And helping him gave me something to do, made me feel less useless.”

“You were miserable? Why didn’t you tell us?” Ron said softly. For a second Hermione thought he might actually feel remorse.

“Like you couldn’t tell? I withdrew in on myself. I hardly left the house! I would just lie on my bed and stare at the wall! How could you not know?”

“I didn’t know of any of this. You didn’t tell me. I’m not a mindreader, Mione!” he said, his voice growing much louder. It never took long for them to start fighting.

“You were willfully ignorant, Ronald. You couldn’t bear to think about poor old Mione when you were out having a good time with your new auror buddies.”

“That’s not fair and you know it! You see? This was never going to work between us. You expect me to read your mind and get mad when I can’t. You set me up for failure.”

Hermione knew it was fruitless to have this fight but it felt so cathartic to get it all off her chest. “I set you up for failure? What about you setting me up for failure with your mother? She already did not like me and you made it worse when you didn’t defend me.”

“My mum didn’t like you? What are you talking about? She _loved_ you.”

“Nooo, she certainly did not. She held a grudge against me ever since that thing with Harry in fourth year.”

“What? What thing with Harry in fourth year?”

“The thing with _the Prophet_. Skeeter implied that I broke Harry’s heart and started dating Viktor. She still believed that even when we, you and I,” she pointed between the two of them, “were together. I couldn’t convince her otherwise.”

“You’re crazy. She thought the world of you.”

“She certainly did not when she asked me when we were having our first child.”

“Mione…”

“Surely, you remember this.” Hermione barked out a laugh. “When I did not give a satisfactory answer, she said we were already sleeping together so that part should be pretty easy.” Hermione was starting to see red at remembering this.

“Mione, she was only joking. You just never learned to take a joke.”

“I never learned to take a joke? Well, it certainly did not sound like a joke. Having a child is a big decision and I did not appreciate the decision being made for me.”

“C’mon, your parents made the same joke to you all the time.”

Hermione could feel the hot tears pricking her eyes. She did not know if they tears of frustration and anger or of genuine sadness as she relived a relationship crumble before her eyes once more. It no longer felt so cathartic. “But you never were in my corner, you never stuck up for me. You just stood there while everyone dug into me.”

“Mione…”

“No, Ron, don’t ‘Mione’ me. You did not fight them because, like them, you wanted to have kids too. You were hoping that maybe their subtle digs would convince me to finally agree to start having them. That’s why we couldn’t stay together. You were right. Some things are irreconcilable.”

“And now this law passed and now you have to do it anyway,” Ron said bitterly.

“Why does everyone keep saying that? It’s a _Marriage_ Law not a _Procreation_ Law.”

“Yeah, well… do you really expect them to call it that? When they’re so conservative.”

“No, I’m serious. Is there something I don’t know regarding the law?”

“Oh, Percy hasn’t told you? If it’s successful, there’s going to be an addendum for… making children, as it were. Sorry you have to do that with the greasy git.”

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. She barely heard the offense against her fiancé. She could not believe what she was hearing and from Ron no less! Percy wanted to change the law? And he wasn’t telling her? That really meant he expected her to do the deed with Severus. Sure, he had accused her in the past of sleeping with him, but did he honestly think their relationship was like that? Hermione herself still did not know what their relationship was.

“No offense, Ron.” Okay, that was a lie. Full offense. “But I really hate your brother. He really is doing the most to get rid of me.” Normally she might be honored to be considered such a threat. But this was less of a fun rivalry and more of the life-ruining kind.

“Really?” Oh, Ron, always so oblivious. “He was the one who told me that I should talk to you to make sure things were okay between us.”

Now he decided to be chivalrous. Now when she was already almost entirely over it. He sure had stellar timing. “Wait,” she realized, icy fear forming in her stomach. “Percy told you to talk me?” Was this related to his comment earlier?

“Yes,” Ron said, still oblivious apparently.

“Now? In the middle of a party? Where everyone would see us leave together?”

“Yeah, so? Everyone already knows you’re in love with Snape.”

But Hermione could not argue. Her stomach churned. She was going to be sick. She knew the symptoms well and she had not had a panic attack this bad in a long time. Hermione ran from the conference room. 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, so no one sues me, cranberry juice will not cure your UTI. That is a myth. Hermione would know that if she read a book once in a while ;)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the absence again! Why does life have to be so stressful?? Gosh, can everything slow down so I can dedicate myself to fanfiction? 😊 Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Heart in her throat Hermione slowed as she approached the room where the Christmas party was underway. If the level of noise meant anything, apparently it was a smashing success.

Hermione was grateful for the music and conversation since it covered up her frantic gulps for air. She did not know if she was out of breath because she was out of shape or because she was still in the grips of a panic attack. She braced her hands on her knees and tried taking deep breaths to steady herself. 

Really, she would have preferred to sit in a chair and put her head between her legs but her current outfit did not really allow for that, at least with her dignity—however little there was left—remaining intact.

“Hermione?” she heard a voice ask. Her head shot up. For a second she hoped that Severus had come looking for her. But that hope was quickly dashed when she realized that the voice sounded nothing like him. “What are you doing away from the party?”

“Mr. Shacklebolt, I, uh—” Hermione was still struggling to breathe. He wanted to talk to her now? Apparently everyone had the worst timing of late.

“Please, Hermione, I told you to call me Kingsley,” he said, smiling widely, clearly trying to broadcast an air of friendliness and familiarity.

“Yes, right.” She laughed awkwardly. “How could I forget?” She just wanted to be out of there until she felt a little better and then could start doing some damage control.

“I know I haven’t talked to you in a while.” An understatement. “But you’re doing a great job. I knew you would be able to accomplish any task we put in front of you, but you’ve exceeded even my wildest expectations. I am proud of you.” He put his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. The force of it made her wobble on her feet a bit. She started feeling woozy. Was she going to be sick? She had only had two drinks.

“Thank you, sir, er, Kingsley. It means a lot to me to hear that from you.” That was not entirely untrue either. She had been working hard at something with little praise. It was difficult to keep going when she received barely any recognition and Percy was certainly no help.

“So you are going back to the party, I presume?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure my fiancé,” she enunciated the word like she was not quite sure she knew how to pronounce it, “is missing me.”

Kingsley chuckled. “Severus is a lucky man to have such a conscientious and charming bride. I’ll admit, I was worried at first when I heard you had chosen him, but now I see that you genuinely seem to care for each other. Tell him ‘hello’ from me.” Hermione nodded and made to move past Kingsley. “Thank you again, Hermione.”

Kingsley left in the opposite direction to wherever he was going—she probably should have asked him—but Hermione continued on her slow trajectory back to the party. Hermione threw furtive glances around the room, desperately looking for any sign of Severus. 

An unpleasant thought crossed her mind. What if he had left? Not only had she asked him to function basically as a cup holder, she had also been seen leaving the party with her ex? Merlin, she was mucking things up again, wasn’t she? She felt her panic returning with a vengeance.

“Hermione! There you are.” Hermione whirled as best she could in the shoes Phaedra had let her borrow. Her heart was beating faster and not just because she was nervous. She knew that voice.

“Severus!” She almost wanted to run to him and pull him into a hug but he might not appreciate the gesture in a room full of people. And the last time she had hugged him, she was not certain he had enjoyed it entirely.

“I was about to come looking for you; I was worried something had happened,” he said, still patiently holding her bag and drink.

Hermione could not help but blush at this even though she knew deep down that it was part of an act. She had told him that he did not have to act at this party but she was sure it was second nature to him at this point. Hermione certainly felt like she was always performing at this point.

“How was it, by the way? Did he beg you to take him back?” Severus asked, raising a conspiratorial eyebrow.

Hermione brushed her hair behind her left ear and worried her lip. She looked up at Severus whom she was surprised to see held no malice in his face. He was smiling playfully. He trusted her. Merlin, was she deserving of that trust?

“Can I talk to you? Somewhere else?” she asked, very aware of how panicked she sounded.

“Lead away,” he said offering the crook of his elbow and her drink. Though the ice had melted considerably, she took it from him and finished it in one big gulp.

* * *

Severus allowed himself to be led into another room. She looked quite distraught which made him nervous. What had happened between her and Ron? He did not want to act possessive—it was never a good look—but he was not entirely certain they could trust him. He also did not know too many details of their relationship, but he knew it had hurt Hermione, and he would hate for her to be hurt all over again.

He turned to look at Hermione who was still clutching her empty cup and looking stricken. Meanwhile, he still had her purse still tucked into his armpit. He expected her to start speaking immediately but Hermione looked like she was trying to catch her breath or throw up. Or maybe both.

On an intellectual level, he understood his job was to provide comfort to Hermione, but on a practical level, he knew he was woefully inexperienced and ill-equipped. Nevertheless Severus drew on what he had seen other people do and put a hand on her shoulder. At first she flinched at his touch and Severus thought he had better remove his hand immediately, but eventually she eased into it.

“Maybe we should get you a chair,” he said, looking about the room for something for her to sit on. Unfortunately, however, this room was mostly empty except for a heavy desk. Now it was his turn to lead her over to the desk and help her get on it. She was a bit wobbly still and he did not know if it was the shoes or because she was tipsy. She struggled somewhat but eventually she made it on.

He stared at her once more, trying to see if she was improving at all, but all he saw was a flush creep up her cheeks. The alcohol perhaps? Then he noticed his hand was still in hers.

Severus waited for her to be able to talk. She was breathing deeply and not looking at him but rather her eyes were focused on a fixed point somewhere else in the room. Nevertheless he kept his hand in hers, nestled in the crook of her lap.

Then her steady breathing became uneven and she let out a crushed sob that shook her whole body followed by fat, heavy tears that streamed down her face and left rivulets in her makeup.

Severus had done a poor job at handling upset children but he had been particularly inept at comforting crying members of his house. Honestly, they should really train staff members on this kind of stuff.

But like the last time Hermione had been upset, he reached out his free hand to touch her bare shoulder. Only this time she did not flinch or pull away, but instead pulled him close, burying her face in his shirt.

They were like that, tucked close together, for a while. Severus was almost too shocked to move. But he put his free hand around Hermione, which seemed to calm her somewhat. Then Severus felt and heard Hermione say something into his stomach.

“I’m sorry?” he said, looking down at the curls coming loose from her carefully coiffed hairstyle and spilling over her shoulders.

She pulled away from him. “No, I’m sorry,” she said quietly, still not looking at him. “I forgot you don’t like hugs.”

Severus was confused. “Where did you get that idea?”

Hermione wiped her face with the bottom edge of her hand. “You flinched the last time I hugged you.” She punctuated her statement with a loud sniffle.

“Oh,” he said simply. He had not even realized that he had flinched. If anything it was probably more from surprise rather than discomfort. Someone like him was simply not used to physical affection. “Well, that was not my intention. I am… not opposed to hugging.”

Hermione smiled at him lopsidedly. Her face was considerably more smudged than it had been before but it was nevertheless endearing.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

Gone was her lopsided smile and Severus wished he had not asked the question. She shifted her weight between her legs and tugged on the hem of her dress. Severus moved backwards to give her some space.

“Percy is ruining everything,” she cried. “He is trying to ruin me—us.”

“What now?” Severus asked.

“He told Ron that I wanted to talk to him. That’s why Ron asked to talk to me. And then he had cameras follow us. At least I assume so. I didn’t see any. But what else would he be doing?”

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said. Severus knew it sounded lame but what else could he say? And he really was sorry. For everything. Well, mostly everything. He could not bring himself to feel sorry for their budding friendship, which brought him immense guilt.

“I know. I’m sorry too,” she said with a sigh.

“For what?” Severus asked.

“For leaving you alone at the party to talk to Ron.”

Now it was Severus’s turn to look uncomfortable. Sure, he did not like being in awkward social situations but he pretty much accepted them as a fact of life at this point. He was more worried about Hermione getting hurt than anything.

“That’s not a big deal, Hermione. I know nothing happened. Not—not that it matters or anything,” he added quickly.

Hermione bit her lip. “I know you know, but not everyone else does. People would have seen me leave with him. And if someone writes up a convincing enough piece, it could look like I’m stepping out on you.”

“But,” Severus reasoned, “Phaedra would not let that happen. She wouldn’t want it to look like Ron was cheating on her. Especially not with you. No offense.”

Hermione shook her head with a laugh. “None taken. But one: I don’t know if she’s told anyone. And two: I don’t think Percy cares if he drags his sister-in-law and brother down, as long as he takes me down with them.”

Severus thought about it again. That did seem to be in Percy’s nature; he was not above sacrificing family members if it meant he could get a rung up on the political ladder.

“So, what do we do?” Severus asked. He wanted to help her. Hell, it seemed like that was all he wanted to do lately.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what we can do, Severus.” Once more her body seemed to be taken over by sobs. Severus pulled her in close and rubbed her back. He could not help but notice how soft her skin was. But maybe it only felt so compared to the rough texture of the sequins dotting her dress. It certainly did not scream “Hermione” to him, but he could not help but admit that she did wear it well.

“The Hermione I know, she wouldn’t take this lying down. She would get up and fight.”

She sniffled. “Well, I’m the Hermione I know,” she said, a little indignantly, “and I’m tired. So tired.”

“Maybe that is what we do then. Just like you said, we can run away together. I mean…” he backtracked, “I don’t have to come with you, but I could help you. From afar. If that’s what you would like.”

Hermione smiled. “I suppose you could come. It might get rather lonely living in a new place.”

Severus had not thought she could be convinced so easily. “Are you serious? Because I would drop everything if it would protect you from all of this misery.”

Hermione looked taken aback for a moment. There Severus had gone, running his mouth. “You don’t need to save me.”

Yes, that had been a poor choice of words on Severus’s part. She was not a princess and he was not in possession of white horse or shining armor.

“But you can dance with me,” she said. She sniffed loudly. “Can I have my clutch?” she asked. Severus acquiesced and handed her the little gold bag. “Oh,” she said when she looked up.

“What?” Severus asked.

“I may have gotten a little bit of makeup on you.” Severus looked down. His white shirt did have a smudge of colors on it. She pulled her wand from her bag and removed the stain. Then she pulled out a little mirror to look at her own reflection.

“Oh, dear,” she said looking at her face from different angles. “Were you going to let me leave like this?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“You know perfectly well I look a mess.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.”

* * *

Hermione drew her wand on him and made a face but that demeanor quickly dissolved into a fit of giggles. Severus was also smiling, but with his eyebrows high on his head, like he might have thought she was crazy.

“Were _you_ going to let _me_ go out there like this?” he asked in return.

“Like what?” Severus gestured to from the top of his head to his feet. “Oh, you can’t be serious. You look… great. Especially after I cleaned you up.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “You hesitated. Besides, how long did it take you to get ready? I just came here in what I was already wearing.”

“Well, there are different expectations for men and women, you know that. It’s not fair but—”

“That’s not what I meant.” Severus raked his hand through his hair. “At least, not entirely. People talk, Hermione.”

“Yeah, and let them,” she said, much more confidently than she felt. “There’s nothing we can do about that.”

“Have you ever wondered why people are so interested in us?”

“Because the Ministry tells them to be?”

“They can’t figure us out. They see this beautiful, young woman with this ugly, old man who doesn’t even have that much money.”

“I wouldn’t say I was _beautiful_ ,” she said, although she could not help the warm feeling growing within her. “And people know why we’re together. I saved your life, remember?”

“Yes, but why?” he asked.

“Why did I save your life?” she asked in response.

“No. Why would that make you love me?”

Hermione closed her mouth. She supposed he did have a point. To her, it just made sense. That she would love someone who was capable and clever.

“You’re not ugly,” she said in a small voice. Severus laughed darkly. “I’m serious! You are... tall.”

“I’m tall?”

“Yes, isn’t that a desirable trait in men?”

“Alright, I guess I have one good quality.”

“And you have a nice nose.”

“You think my nose is nice?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s interesting.”

Seveurs snorted. “That sounds like a euphemism for ‘ugly.’”

“Well, I like it.” She took a step closer to him. She did not know if it was the alcohol in her or what but she traced a finger along the bridge of his nose. She waited for him to flinch or otherwise move away but all she heard was a hitch in his breath. 

“What happened here?” she asked, her finger resting on an uneven part. He laughed. She could feel his hot breath on her hand. “What’s so funny?”

“You think it’s interesting. You probably think I got into a fight or something. It’s not interesting at all. I fell when I was a child.”

“Is that not a story? Something to tell at parties?”

“Is that how you measure a life? How well you can parcel it out and tell pieces at parties?”

“I don’t even know why I said that. I don’t like parties.”

“Neither do I.”

“So why are we here?” she asked. Then she noticed how close they were standing. She wobbled a bit but he held her steady. His eyes never left hers. The way they looked into her, like they could read every thought, know every secret, burned her cheeks. She had to drop her gaze at the intensity of it all.

Her eyes fell to his lips, which they examined carefully. She had not realized how full they were. Her breathing stopped when she realized they were drawing ever closer. But whether it was she or Severus moving, she had no idea.

Soon their lips were touching and she closed her eyes. His hands were in her hair again just like the last kiss but this time she reached to lace her fingers through his short locks. Even in the tiny dress, she was burning up, an unseen flame threatening to consume her. And just when she thought it would, he pulled away.

Hermione did not want to open her eyes, did not want to see the disgusted or horrified look on his face, but she knew she could not stand there in the middle of the room with her eyes scrunched shut for the rest of time.

Severus held a finger to his lips, which Hermione noticed were smeared with lipstick. “I think we’ve been found out,” he whispered.

He tried to move away, but Hermione grabbed his wrist. “Wait,” she said, in equally low tones.

“What?” he asked, looking utterly ridiculous with lipstick still on his face.

She reached out to rub it off which earned her a confused look. “Merlin, you really are a mess,” she said into his ear when she had finished. Then she pointed to her own lips. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” he said, pulling her behind him. “Now, come on; let’s go.”

* * *

Severus did not know if it was possible for them to leave that room looking like anything but randy teenagers. Still, he tried to school his features and hoped Hermione would do the same. Unless, they were supposed to look like they were madly in love, ready to jump each other’s bones at a moment’s notice. It would be nice to get some direction in that department.

Then again, it was nice to have a moment just between the two of them, not performing for anyone else. The kiss they shared was genuine, which made everything simpler. Didn’t it?

“Professor Snape,” a man said. Severus turned to see a scared Ron Weasley. _He_ had ruined their moment? Typical.

Before Severus could ask him what he was doing, he felt Hermione move to stand in front of him, pulling his arm with her. “What are you doing here, Ronald?” she asked, annoyed.

Ron looked between them and their still clasped hands and the flush creeping up their necks. “Er, sorry,” he said, looking sheepish. “I thought you were fighting. I wanted to tell you, Professor Snape, that Hermione and I didn’t do anything.”

Severus wanted to cross his arms dramatically in front of his chest but he also did not want to remove Hermione’s hand from his own. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Weasley, but I trust my fiancée to have a civil conversation with her ex.”

“But you looked angry as you left.”

“Trust me. That anger was not reserved for her,” he said looking at the boy, hoping he’d get the memo.

“Right,” he said. “Well, sorry for bothering you.”

They watched him go without another word. But since they were both going back to the same place, they had to wait for him to get some distance ahead of them.

“Sorry about that,” Hermione said, fiddling with the hem of her dress. “I don’t know what that’s about.”

Severus was not sure how to respond so he merely nodded to show he was listening.

When Weasley had disappeared from their view, Hermione set one foot forward like she was about to go when Severus touched her arm. He had done it almost unconsciously and though they had just kissed, he still did know if he had the permission to touch her.

But to his relief she just looked at him, surprised and perhaps confused, but not angry or upset that he had made contact.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to do something together. Maybe meet up one last time before… everything happens?” Severus did not know why he was having such a hard time asking what he wanted to. It was an idea he had been playing with for a while now and now was the best time as ever to ask her. “I still haven’t given you your Christmas present.” I still haven’t bought it yet either, he thought.

“Like dinner?” she asked, once more fiddling with the hem of her dress. 

“I was thinking—and you can tell me if this doesn’t interest you—but I was thinking we could do something out and about.”

“Oh. Alright,” she said. She sounded surprised but at least she did not look opposed to the idea.

“This Saturday at around 5 o’clock? Meet in the usual spot?”

The rest of the evening passed less eventfully. He kept a close eye on both Weasleys but the older was milling around, schmoozing with everyone he saw, whereas the younger seemed to have disappeared altogether.

When he was not scanning the room for red-haired shenanigans, he was pretending to be smitten with Hermione, though it really was not very hard. She was still tipsy and after their conversation she seemed a little better, trying to dance in beat with the music. Severus could not help but smile at her attempts. But for all the stress of before, she at least seemed to be having fun.

Merlin, she was hopeless. He knew that the feeling at the pit of his stomach meant he was falling for her. Hard. Merlin, _he_ was hopeless.


	24. Chapter 24

_All around him were trees. He looked up and saw the full moon casting eerie shadows around the clearing Severus had found himself in. A howl rang out in the distance. He did not know how he knew, but Severus had the distinct feeling of being hunted._

_A nearby made sound Severus whirl around to see who or what had made the noise. A werewolf? he thought, but without any evidence. Whatever it was stepped menacingly into the clearing. No. Not a werewolf, but a man. A man he did not recognize, but nevertheless threateningly brandishing his wand and his eyes on fire with the thrill of the chase._

_“Give up,” the man snarled. “We have her. And you’re next.” The man lunged at him but Severus managed to dodge._

_But he was not safe for long. More people joined the strange man in the clearing. They all wore the same evil smile; their faces cast in hideous shadow. And all of their wands were pointed directly at his heart._

_Before Severus could turn and run, another rustle caught his and everyone else’s attention. This creature was smaller than Severus expected. At first he thought it might be a dog, but the red coloring told him it was a fox._

_The fox took several tentative steps out of the brush, keeping everyone in rapt attention. And then the fox looked directly into Severus’s eyes._

Severus jolted awake. Heart pounding, he tried to get his bearings. He was no longer in those woods, but in his bedroom. Severus was surprised how much the dream unnerved him. It seemed fairly run-of-the-mill. Except, usually his dreams ended when the antagonists got him. Why had he woken up when the fox had looked at him?

Thinking back on the moment, he realized that the fox had had piercing green eyes. Severus was no biologist and he did not recall the last time he had seen the little canine in real life, but he was fairly certain their eyes were not usually that color.

Severus looked down at the clock on his bedside table. He sighed. Now was as good a time as any to start his day. He still had to go to work and pick up Hermione’s gift before their date tonight.

* * *

Later that day, after he had completed another order, Severus checked the clock; he did not have any more time to finish any more orders if he was going to make their date on time. So, he cleaned out his cauldrons and put away his supplies. Severus had to be fastidious with his work station lest it devolve into chaos. He knew from experience that that was always the case if he did not hold himself to an impossibly high standard. He was about to leave when he noticed that he was still wearing his apron, which he hastily untied and threw onto a stool.

He bid goodbye to Todd and received a curt nod in return before heading out the door and back into the swirling winter air. He cast a quick Notice-Me-Not charm. If he did not need to be recognized out-and-about today, then he was not going to allow himself to be. But as he joined the main thoroughfare, Severus did not think he would have too much trouble considering how busy Diagon Alley was before the holidays.

Unlike his last shopping excursion, however, Severus would only be patronizing one shop: Flourish and Blotts. He still did not know exactly what book he would be buying for Hermione, but he was fairly confident he would find her gift within.

Once more he started in the new releases section at the front of the store, but still nothing that screamed “Hermione!” appeared to have been published since his last visit. He moved throughout the sections of the store methodically but there were just so many books. How would he possibly find the perfect book for her?

When they had been here last, she had had a stack of books in her arms. Why had he not gotten a better look so he could get a clearer idea of where her interests lay? Or was that the wrong way to go about it? Should he perhaps buy her something she would not even think to buy herself?

Severus checked his watch. He was cutting it close and still, he had nothing to show for it. Severus sighed, resigned to his fate. Earlier he had seen an employee walking around the store. She looked like she knew what she was doing, at least somewhat, and Severus had heard her help other customers find what they were looking for.

He let the Notice-Me-Not charm drop and walked over to the woman who was now restocking a shelf. Severus cleared his throat. This seemed to scare her so much that she nearly dropped the book she was holding.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” she said, not looking at him and tucking her hair behind an ear. The nervous tic seemed to be vestigial, however, since her hair was currently too short for the movement to be very effective. “Can I help you?” she asked with a smile, now looking at him through glasses.

“I am looking for a gift. A book, to be more precise,” he said, realizing how stupid he sounded. What else would he be looking for in a bookshop?

“And what kind of books does this person like?” she asked.

Severus opened and closed his mouth. He did not know if she recognized him. He certainly did not recognize her, but the woman appeared young enough that he would not have taught her long, if at all. He wondered if she knew exactly for whom he was buying a gift. “That’s the problem—I think she reads too broadly for me to narrow it down. And I am afraid I will buy her a book she owns already.”

The woman looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, I see why this is such a conundrum. But have you considered _not_ buying a book here?” Severus was confused. Why would she not want to buy from this store? What kind of employee did that? He hoped Todd was not sending people elsewhere when he was not around. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” she said, probably noticing the confused look on his face. “But if you are buying for who I think you are, she might also appreciate a Muggle book. How many of those is she bound to have?”

Severus was not overly fond of this presumption but the woman had made a good point. Severus looked at his watch again. He did not have much time. He grabbed a book off the shelf and handed it to her. “Thanks for your help. I’ll buy this as thank you.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “That book is fifty galleons. Do you really want to do that?”

Severus quietly put the book back on the shelf. “How about this one?” he asked, grabbing the book and showing her the cover.

The shop assistant gave him a weird look but took the book and rang him up. Severus did not know what he had done to earn such a look until he had taken out of his bag later and saw that it was a book about what to expect when you were expecting a magical baby. Severus was glad he was not giving this to Hermione nor did he have any intention of showing her.

He exited Diagon Alley unnoticed and returned to the streets of London. He looked around, his breath condensing before his eyes. Severus did not know the location of any book shops in particular in the Muggle part of the city. But he also knew that he would not have to go far to reach one since he had often seen them out of the corner of his eye as he completed separate errands.

On a whim, Severus turned left and followed the street, looking at shop fronts as he passed. He had yet to see a bookshop, but he was sure he would see one eventually, right?

* * *

Hermione was watching the clock at work even more intently than usual. Or maybe it was not usual. Maybe it was only more recently that she had really begun to hate her job and everything it stood for. At first, she had thought she was working with every magical person’s best interest at heart. Now she wasn’t so certain.

Not to mention she was still waiting for the fall-out of her sneaking away to talk to Ron. It was a miserable feeling this anticipation. She wished it would just happen already so that she did not have to spend all of that time worrying. Or maybe nothing would happen at all. Percy was a sadistic bastard after all.

She tapped her pen against her desk absent-mindedly which earned her a glare from Percy. Hermione stopped immediately but she resisted the urge to glare at him in return. 

Any day now, she told herself. But still was not sure when that day would be. Or what it would even look like.

At the end of her workday, Hermione put on her outerwear like normal and left wishing Percy a good night. Like all nights, however, he simply grunted in response. But Hermione could not be bothered by the rudeness as she snuck into the bathroom on her way out. Since this was supposed to be a private thing between herself and Severus, she had not wanted anyone to know she was seeing him. And since this was somewhat of a date—at least she hoped she hadn’t confused the signals—she wanted to make herself look presentable.

She remembered every time they had kissed thus far. She had been made up so beautifully. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror critically now. There was no way that anyone would mistake her for attractive. But maybe if she applied her makeup artfully, she would at least approach it somewhat.

But Hermione did not have a deft hand at applying makeup. And when she had finished and looked at herself in the mirror, it took all of her willpower not to burst into tears just then. She had just finished applying the makeup; she could not ruin it now.

But why even bother? a voice in her head asked. It was not as if she were beautiful, even with makeup. And what was wrong with her anyway, thinking this was a date? This was nothing. This was not real. This was _a business transaction_. Why couldn’t she see that?

Now the tears really had begun to flow freely. She looked at herself in the mirror and sniffled pathetically. Yes, that’s all she was. Pathetic. For thinking she could be minister. For thinking she could make a difference. For thinking that this—a ruse she had helped orchestrate herself—was anything meaningful.

She wanted to break the mirror with her fists, she was so angry. Angry at her boss. Angry at the law. Angry at herself. Merlin, she did not know when she had been so angry. She picked up the lipstick tube and threw it, but it bounced off the mirror ineffectually. Next was the mascara, followed by the blush compact. But they all landed on the ground with a dull thud, the mirror still in tact.

Hermione picked up her purse and chucked it at the mirror with all of her might, but regretted it immediately. She ran over to the bag and summoned Severus’s gift. There were enchantments up to protect the contents of the bag but Hermione still wanted to be sure. After all, she had spent so long wrapping the book and tying and retying the ribbon so that it sat just right.

The paper was not torn, she concluded after examining the gift. But the ribbon was a little smushed. She fluffed it out so that it returned to its original state. Gingerly, she placed it back in the bag and added another cushioning charm for safekeeping.

Standing up, Hermione was suddenly awash with the feeling of foolishness. She had behaved so childishly, throwing a temper tantrum. Dejected, she looked in the mirror and saw the terror she had wrought to her carefully painted face. Taking that as a sign that she should not have even bothered, Hermione removed the makeup with a gentle cleansing charm.

When she finished, she sighed loudly. Her face was still red and puffy from her tears but since the date would be outside, she hoped he would chalk it up to the cold. No, she scolded herself, this was not a date. She had been very foolish to think otherwise. Hermione put her makeup bag away and slung her purse back over her shoulder and left the bathroom without another glance at her reflection. 

* * *

When Severus had finally found a bookshop—honestly, he must have taken the most indirect path—it was already nearing the time he was supposed to meet Hermione. Damn, he was cutting it close. Why had he put this off till the very last minute again?

He practically sprinted to the nearest sales associate, desperate for any help.

“Hello,” he said, trying to be polite. “I am looking for a gift.” His words came out too fast and the look the man gave Severus told him that the man was having a hard time understanding him. But then his features turned knowing and he nodded.

“For a wife or a girlfriend?” he asked.

“Uh… fiancée,” he answered, since that’s what Hermione was to him technically, even though it felt wrong saying it. But why? Was that not the truth?

The man nodded again. “Does she like cooking?” he asked.

Severus was momentarily taken aback. Was he asking that because she was a woman? Did men often buy the women in their lives cookbooks? But then Severus considered it for a moment. Hermione would likely not own any cookbooks since she could not cook. But just as quickly as the idea came, he dismissed it. He wanted a book she would actually read, not one that would sit on her shelf, collecting dust.

Severus shook his head. “No, she’s not much of a cook. What about a big book? One that is hard to understand?”

The man raised an eyebrow. Surely he had never heard such a request before. But Severus thought this was a good lead. Hermione liked to challenge herself and she was sure the same applied to her reading preferences.

“Does she have an interest in theoretical physics?” the man asked hesitantly.

Severus nodded vigorously. He was not entirely certain but he had heard of theoretical physics and knew it was a complicated subject. From what he gathered, Hermione loved anything she could sink her teeth into.

“Alright. Follow me,” the man said, leading Severus to a bookshelf along the back. He handed him a book with a shiny black dust jacket. _The Elegant Universe_. “We just got the newest edition in. How is that for ‘hard to understand?’”

“It’s perfect,” Severus replied.

The two men returned to the register and Severus handed over a twenty pound note. “Would you like it wrapped?” the man asked, handing Severus his change.

Severus froze. He probably should have wrapped it himself but he was running out of time. “Yes. Please,” he said, looking at the clock.

“Wait!” Severus said, when the man began measuring the book against wrapping paper. He remembered that he had wanted to write something inside to make it more special. “Do you have a pen?”

The man looked at him strangely once more and handed him a pen. “Can I have the book too?” Severus asked, feeling rather foolish.

Feeling the man’s eyes boring into him, Severus flipped to a blank page and quickly, but neatly scrawled. “Happy Christmas. Love, Severus.”

Fuck. He had not meant to write “love.” But Severus could not use magic in front of a muggle and he dared not look at the clock. He handed the book back to the clerk until he realized with a jolt that he had written it in the back of the book and not the front. He cursed himself again for waiting till the last possible moment to complete this errand.

“All set?” the man asked, sounding less annoyed and more amused. Severus nodded and watched him measure the paper, cut it with a satisfying glide of his scissors, and expertly fold and tape the paper into place. “Would you like a label?” he asked.

Severus shook his head. He would be giving the book directly to Hermione. There was no need to give it a label. “Well, good luck,” the man said after returning the book to him.

* * *

Hermione was waiting at their agreed upon meeting spot, shivering at every gust that passed by her. Severus was not one to be late which made his tardiness all the more unusual. Still, she waited, thankful to have more time to pull herself back together after her most recent breakdown.

When Hermione thought she was going to freeze, Severus finally arrived, visibly out of breath.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Time escaped me.” But Hermione was too busy eyeing his scarf jealously to listen very hard to his apology. “You still haven’t found your scarf yet?” he asked.

Hermione sighed. “No. And I keep meaning to buy a new one. What are you doing?” she asked as she watched him unwind the scarf from his neck. He handed it to her, but she merely stared at it, dumbstruck.

“You can take it,” he said, offering it once more. “I’ll be fine.”

Hermione was about to thank him when she noticed the scar on his neck. How had she not noticed it before?

“Pretty ugly, isn’t it?” he said. “But you should see the other guy…er, snake. Snake lady?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly awash with guilt. “I did not mean to stare. How rude of me.”

“No,” Severus said, shoving his hands in his pocket. “I get it. You were surprised. I normally cover it up but I don’t bother when I’m wearing a scarf. Besides,” he said, a smile playing across his lips, “it reminds me of someone very dear to me who saved me.”

Hermione could not help it. The sting had returned to her eyes. When had she become such a blubbering mess? And why did it always have to happen around him?

“Did I say something wrong?” Severus asked, a panicked look crossing his face.

Hermione shook her head, causing more tears to flow from her eyes. He had said something _right_. It was the situation that was all wrong. But how could she explain that to him?

Hermione took a deep breath and rubbed her mittened hands over her eyes, grateful that she had elected to not wear makeup tonight. “It’s fine. Just hormones, I guess. I’m ready; I promise.”

Severus looked bewildered for a moment before schooling his features. “Are you going to put the scarf on?” 

Hermione looked at the rectangle of black fabric in her hands before wrapping it around her neck. She could not help but smell him: herbal and masculine, which sent a shiver up her spine, and definitely not from the cold.

Once Severus was apparently satisfied with her state of bundled-up-ness, he turned on his heel in the opposite direction, which Hermione took as a signal to follow him. He still seemed to be somewhat in a hurry, however, as Hermione struggled to keep up with his much longer legs.

“Wait,” she said panting. She was much warmer now thanks to the vigorous exercise and probably did not still need his scarf, but now she was reluctant to give it up.

“Pardon me. I had not realized I was going too fast for you.”

“I think this is not usually a problem because we normally hold hands,” Hermione explained. Even though she had not meant it as an offer to take her hand, Severus had interpreted it as such. The gesture threatened to burn her from the inside out as she felt her cheeks redden.

“Better?” he asked, smiling. Hermione noticed that his scar was now covered again, presumably by a glamour. She hoped he was not doing it for her. It did not repulse her; she had merely been shocked to see it.

“Where are we going?” she asked once they had started walking again.

“You’ll see,” he said cryptically.

Hermione rolled her eyes but it was more of a playful gesture than an annoyed one. She did think it was romantic that he wanted to surprise her. Although, she realized with a sinking feeling, he had probably not meant it to be romantic in nature.

They passed other couples bundled up against the chill. Hermione compared them all to her and Severus, hoping it would tell her anything at all. Unfortunately, all she could tell was that she was not sure what was different between the real couples and them. Well, it was all superficial anyway. She could not really tell what was going on between them.

“Here we are!” Severus said, leading them into a little park.

At first Hermione was not sure what she was supposed to be looking at. There were lots of people milling about, so perhaps they were blocking whatever it was from view. But the more Hermione looked about and took in the surroundings of the park, the more she realized that he had taken her to see the park specifically. And that’s when she saw them.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, looking at the expertly hung up lights.

“You like it?” he asked. Hermione knew he was looking at her, could feel his eyes on her face, but she dared not return his glance lest she start crying again. She could feel the telltale sting and knew the tears were not far away. Merlin, he must think her a mess. Hell, she thought she was a mess.

“Of course,” Hermione responded, still keeping her eyes on the lights. The benefit of staring at the lights meant that it would also stop her from crying.

“Well, you can look at them as long as you like, but know this is just the first stop on our list.”

* * *

At each successive spot, Severus kept his eyes trained on Hermione. He could feel butterflies every time he saw her face light up and it felt good knowing that he was the one making her so happy.

She, however, was noticeably not looking at him. He did not know how to feel about that. Now, Severus was not an expert on human interaction, but he was familiar with her and normally she looked at him when she spoke.

“Do you want to get mulled wine?” he asked when they had come upon the final spot. “There’s a bar just over there that sells it.”

Hermione nodded and the two made their way into the bar. Severus ordered one mulled wine for her.

“Nothing for yourself?” Hermione asked. She took a noisy sip of the beverage but then proceeded to make a pained face. “Ow,” she said, wincing. “I guess it’s still too hot to drink.” She blew on the drink. “Seriously. You don’t want a hot chocolate or anything?”

Severus shook his head. “Much too sweet for me. Besides I’m not... particularly thirsty.” He knew how lame that sounded but it was true. He was not particularly in the mood to partake. Besides, he had planned this all for Hermione. They walked over to a bench under a particularly well-lit tree.

“Suit yourself,” Hermione said, taking another sip. She winced again.

“You know, if only there was a way you could cool that down for yourself,” Severus teased.

Hermione frowned. “I know,” she said indignantly. “But we’re in public.”

“I thought you had diplomatic immunity.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m not a diplomat and we’re not in another country.”

“I mean, aren’t you above the law?”

Hermione took another sip except this time it did not seem to scald her. “I wish. Then I wouldn’t be subject to this law.” Severus tried to cover up the hurt on his face but evidently he was unsuccessful because Hermione added, “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

Severus nodded. He looked up at the tree and tried to see it again for what she saw. All he saw was small plastic bulbs on a wire. What was so special about that?

“Do you think?” Hermione began. Severus turned back to look at her, to hear the rest of what she was going to say, but she seemed to have forgotten that she had spoken at all.

“Do I think what?” he prodded, after a moment of silence.

“No. Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“More stupid than a law that forced us to get fake married.” Hermione smiled at that, like he knew she would. A warm feeling travelled down his spine every time he made her smile like that, like sunshine in his veins.

“Do you think we would have ever been friends?” she said, clenching her mittened hands into balls. “Without a stupid law that forced us to get fake married, I mean.”

Severus looked at her face which was now glowing gold in the light. She looked sort of angelic like that, which made what he was about to say that much more difficult. “No,” he said, softly. “No, I don’t think so.”

She seemed to take his words and sit with them for a moment. When she finally did respond, she said, “I think I agree.” That was it. Nothing more or less. And if this fact made her happy or sad, he could not tell for her face was almost blank save for the unearthly glow.

Severus, however, did not need to think about it. He already was plagued with the guilt that came along with being secretly happy about being forcefully engaged to someone because he finally realized how lonely he had felt before and how much more whole he felt now.

He shuddered to think about what happened when she would leave, when he would once more be only half-complete.

“Is this when we exchange gifts?” she asked, awakening him from his troubling thoughts.

“Uh, yes,” he said. But before he could reach into his pocket and retrieve her gift, he saw that she was now offering him a well-wrapped gift of her own.

“Tada!” she said. He took it and set it in his lap. Severus stared at the package before him. He could not remember the last time he had received a gift nor could he remember one so well wrapped. The bow seemed to have been cut and folded with precision and the paper was covered in poinsettias which sparkled under the lights.

“Well, are you going to open it or what?” she asked. He looked at her and her face was lit up by more than just the lights. Normally he hated opening gifts and was the absolute worst gift receiver, but who was he to turn her down?

“Sorry about the glitter,” Hermione said, as he turned the package over and began unsticking the tape. Severus looked down and did indeed notice gold flecks dotting his black coat. He hardly minded, however. It was a good reminder of the kindness someone had done for him. How many more of these would he receive? With his miserable existence, it was hard to know.

Once he carefully lifted up both taped-down corners, Severus carefully slid the package from his wrapping. Based on its heft and shape, it had been obvious to him from the beginning that it was a book, but it was nevertheless surprising when he saw what it was. _Practical Botany for Gardeners_. She had listened when he talked about his garden.

“Wow, thank you,” was all he could say. He knew he could and probably should say more but at that moment the right words seemed to evade him.

“I hope you like it,” Hermione said. Severus could clearly hear the nervousness in her voice. What had she said again? That she thought she was bad at giving gifts. Well, he certainly couldn’t have her believing that.

“Of course,” he said, gently flipping through the pages. “I will start reading it as soon as I get home.”

Hermione beamed at that. He could not help but be entranced by her warm, smiling face. She looked almost expectant. What did she want from him? His heart sped up, thinking about what it could mean. Did she want to kiss him? Until, he remembered, that like a weirdo, he was staring at her and not giving her his gift.

He reached into his pocket and handed it to her, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. The man who had wrapped it had indeed done a very good job but now he was wondering if he should have done it himself. Well, he probably would have done it himself if he hadn’t been so last minute. Hermione certainly hadn’t been last minute; he could tell by her wrapping job.

“I’m sure you can guess what this is,” Severus said with a self-conscious laugh. He ran his hands through his hair and even though it had been some time since it had been shorn, it was still a surprise to feel how short it was. “I hope you like it,” he said when Hermione began tearing into the paper.

Her eyes lit up when she read the title. She immediately opened the front flap to read the description there. “Do you know anything about theoretical physics?” he offered. Like him, she was now flipping through the pages, though at a much quicker pace than he had.

His stomach clenched when he remembered that he had written her a sappy note in among the first pages of the book, but either she had passed it entirely or it was not where he thought it was. Then he remembered that the book had been upside down and he had accidentally written the note in the back.

Please don’t read the last page, he thought. Well, at least not while he was right there.

He was smiling nervously but not only because he had left that sappy note but also because she still had not answered him. But maybe that was a good sign. Maybe that meant she was so engrossed by it that she had not even heard him.

Eventually—what felt like forever for Severus—Hermione stopped her flipping. Thankfully she had not turned to the very last page. Though perhaps that was inevitable. There was not usually anything written on that page.

Severus was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Hermione turned to him and wrapped him in a hug. Sure, he had told her that he was not opposed to hugging, but he had not expected her to take him up on it. Especially when they were in public.

“Thank you so much!” she said when she released her hold on him.

“It’s only a small gift,” he said, suddenly aware of the bejeweled locket dangling from her neck.

She must have caught his staring because she wrapped her fist around the pendant. “That’s not what I mean,” she said, her voice small. “Thank you for doing this with me.”

That tiny word was very telling, Severus thought. Of all the prepositions—to, for, against—she had chosen “with.” Almost like a partnership, almost like a _relationship_. Yes, they had kissed—multiple times now—but even Severus was aware enough to know that that did not necessarily mean anything.

“Uh, anytime,” he said, rubbing the back of his head again. He smiled again nervously but even after all this time together he closed his mouth, self-conscious about his teeth.

“Anytime?” she asked with a devilish grin. “So, you would be up for a fake marriage again?”

Severus laughed. “I’ll help you, but if we have to get fake-married again, maybe we need to fix some other, bigger problem.”

Hermione smiled at him again but she was otherwise quiet. They stayed like that for a while, in amicable silence.

“Thank you for this too,” she gestured around. “I’ve never been on such a thoughtful—”

Severus waited for her to finish her thought, to say the word, but she didn’t. But why would she? This was not real; they were just playing at being together.

“It’s nothing,” he said. Admittedly he was trying to cover up how much this meant to him. “I just wanted to maybe have one positive memory from this whole thing.” Severus realized with a sinking feeling this would probably be their last date.

He did not look at her, did not want to look at her, did not want to see the reaction on her face, good or bad. But he quickly felt pressure on his left hand which made him sneak a quick glance at her. She was not looking at him either.

He returned to facing forward. He could feel his pulse quicken. Was he crazy or was she slightly closer to him now? Severus almost did not dare but should he move a little closer as well?

* * *

Hermione did not know how much more obvious she could be. She wanted to feel his warmth and not just because she was cold. Yes, she was already warm from the mulled wine, but that was not true warmth; it was just caused by her blood vessels dilating.

And maybe it was the wine too, but she desperately wanted him to hold her. She felt so starved for affection in the moment and he was tantalizingly right there, weird feelings about their relationship be damned.

She slid over another smidge which caused the bench to bow under her weight. Now he had to know that he was trying to get closer to him.

But he still wasn’t moving. Was he repulsed by her? Because she had not put on any makeup? Did he find her ugly?

And then, before she could worry any longer, he scooted closer to her. They were so close now that their shoulders were touching. She could smell him, stronger than the scent on his scarf. It was heavenly. Hermione knew she would remember this smell long after they parted for good. But she did not want to dwell on that now.

Suddenly she had the desire to just lay her head on his shoulder, but she still did not know how he would react. Sure, they had kissed, but this was “real couple” stuff, not just spur-of-the-moment passion.

She continued to stare ahead, ostensibly at the lights, but her mind was stuck on the idea of her head on his shoulder. He had gotten closer to her just then, hadn’t he? And he had not flinched when she put her hand on his. What was the worst that could happen?

Ever so slowly, Hermione lowered her head to his shoulder, thanking the cold weather for her hat so that he would not get a mouthful of her hair. When she finally made full contact, she waited for any sign that he was uncomfortable about their change in position, but to her surprise, he lowered his head on top of hers.

They stayed like that the rest of the night, painted golden in the glow of the twinkling lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that position probably isn't very comfortable to sustain for long periods but they're magic and this is fiction ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mean to make Chapter 25 the Christmas chapter? No, but it's a happy coincidence, isn't it?

The only thing that separated Christmas from every other day for Hermione was the fact that she could sleep in. Except on this morning—if this time of pitch black could even be called that—lying on her childhood bed, Hermione found herself wide awake and unable to complete this most basic of tasks: sleeping.

Normally Hermione spent her Christmases at the Burrow so this was her first Christmas at home in a very long time. She liked to think that her parents were happy she was back but she had not realized how much this would hurt. It was not as if she necessarily missed the Weasleys—well, _some_ she missed—it was more like it did not feel like Christmas.

Hermione tried to close her eyes and let blissful oblivion claim her for a few more hours, but after many moments of painful consciousness, it became impossible to deny that she was still awake. She rolled over to try to get comfortable again but it was still no use. She was wide awake.

It would be many hours yet till her parents stirred. She stared at the posters adorning her walls. Maps and star charts from when she had loved learning and it had filled her with light. Now all it seemed to do was fill her with dread, as she had no time for it. Besides, what good did that knowledge do her if she was not going to use it anyway?

 _Yikes, that was dark._ _Time to think of something else._

But diverting her thoughts drew them immediately to the upcoming wedding. Her stomach churned. She was going to mess this up, wasn’t she? She had been so busy with everything else going on that she had forgotten just how scary the ceremony itself would be.

Practically everyone would be there. And this was not just Hermione being dramatic. The press would be there documenting her every step of the way. And if she faltered at any step, they would capture and reproduce it. And if it was an especially slow news time—as Phaedra had thought it might be—every misstep would be replayed and dissected ad nauseam.

She was nauseated just thinking about it. And tripping or flubbing her lines did not even take into consideration how she would feel when she came face to face with Severus. Would she be able to profess her love to him? It was not like she did not like him, but to proclaim to love him, forever? How could she live with herself after that? Oddly enough, it had seemed like she would be able to say those words when she cared little for him; but now that they were… something, it seemed damn near impossible.

And then there was always the possibility that he also could not go through with this. That he would leave her at the altar. She did not think he was the type but it still worried her deeply.

She could imagine it now. She had been dumped by Ron and then Severus? Unwanted baggage.

Hermione looked at the star chart again. Muggles and magical folk alike believed in destiny and fate and that their fates were written in the stars. She believed in no such thing of course. Why would she? What cruel fate would allow this, to be forced to pretend to have feelings for someone and then develop some kind of feelings for him? Then again, Hermione still hadn’t ruled out the possibility that they both weren’t confused by the close proximity and forced closeness.

After all, is that not what all crushes were: proximity and time? In the recent aftermath of her breakup with Ron, she kept telling herself that her attraction to him had merely been born out of his proximity. Of course, that did not explain why she had _not_ fallen for Harry, but she did not like to dwell on that subject for too long. The thought of Harry in that way made her very uncomfortable.

Thinking about stars and Severus reminded her of the book he had bought her. She was pretty certain she had brought it along with her in her overnight bag. She rifled through the contents until she pulled it up.

Hermione rubbed her hands over the cover, feeling the embossed letters of the title. It really was a thoughtful gift. Sure, a book is what absolutely anyone would buy her, but she liked that it was so her in a way that he could have not possibly known. He had never been in her childhood bedroom, how would he have known how much she loved the stars? It was not just because she had received an O on her astronomy O.W.L. either; she had gotten an O on nearly every subject anyway.

Hermione pulled her covers back over her legs and fluffed up her pillows and began reading in earnest. Maybe it would not be such a bad Christmas after all.

* * *

Severus had extended another invitation to Todd to join him for Christmas but the young man seemed cagey. If Severus had to hazard a guess, he would say Todd did not want to spend time with his family, but he wanted to spend his holiday with his boss even less.

Just as well, Severus thought. He was not used to spending Christmas with someone else and he did have the book that Hermione had bought him. Now was as good of a time as any to dig into it.

Severus put the kettle on and looked out of his window. His bird friends were not there but he had not seen them in awhile. Or rather, he had not been looking for them. The bird feeder was full—he was very good about remembering to do that—but he did feel he was neglecting them somewhat.

And then, as if it were summoned, fully-formed from his mind, the male sparrow appeared. It hopped around on the branch on which it had landed. Severus could not help but smile.

He took his steaming mug of tea with him into the living room, along with the book Hermione had given him. Severus settled into his wingback chair, setting the mug on a coaster, and began reading in earnest. This book was not something he would normally choose for himself, which is why he was so pleased that Hermione had bought it for him.

Severus found himself thoroughly enjoying the book, another plus. Not only was the author gifted with prose—something he could not say about many of his dry potions texts—the topic was also something he found himself wanting to learn more about. He could not ask for something more from a book and on top of everything, Hermione had been the one who bought it for him! There was nothing quite like loving something unexpectedly. It was its own kind of magic, Severus supposed.

His tea had grown cold by the time he had finished with his reading. Severus would have loved to read further if he had not been so rudely interrupted by his growling stomach. Severus stood up and was met with the chorus of popping and cracking joints, which he hoped was more a result of the long stretch of sitting rather than an indication of his ageing body.

He did not usually spend a lot of time thinking of his age; but now that he had begun spending time with Hermione regularly, he could not but help but notice this difference between them. It did not seem to bother Hermione in the slightest, but he still felt weird about it if he thought about it for too long.

They were a witch and a wizard, with relatively long lifespans, but wouldn’t she prefer to be with someone younger, someone without flecks of gray in his beard? Although, if there was any feature of him that Hermione seemed to like best, it was, apparently, his facial hair. Severus could not help but be amused by the idea. He was not known for sporting a beard and he was not sure if he could even grow one fully.

Maybe when this was all over and there was no threat of him getting his picture taken, he would try to grow it out. It definitely couldn’t hurt—though it might be itchy—and Hermione would probably like it too. It could be a fun little experiment for him to try.

He removed some leftover stew from his refrigerator and poured it in a pan to heat up. Some wizards did not even bother with stoves, preferring to cook their food with their fire from his wands. But Severus might have tried that once when he was drunk and all that had gotten him was a burnt midnight snack. His drunkenness might have been to blame; but if he wouldn’t brew potions that way, he probably shouldn’t cook the food he eats that way either.

As Severus watched his stew, he could not help but wonder what Hermione was doing at that moment? Was she having a good time with her parents? Or was she cloistered in another room, hoping they would leave her alone. Selfishly, he could not help but wish they were together. They would not even have to talk; he could just bask in the warmth of her presence.

That was not weird to say, right? Friends enjoyed each other’s company in silence all of the time, right?

* * *

“Hermione?” her mother asked at the table.

“Yes,” Hermione responded.

“Why didn’t you invite your gentleman friend to spend Christmas with us?”

 _Oh, that question._ “He had... other plans,” Hermione lied.

“That’s too bad. I like him,” her mother responded.

“Maybe next Christmas,” Hermione lied again.

* * *

Severus had long since returned to his living room to continue reading. It became dark around him and when he could no longer easily make out the words on the page, Severus turned on the lamp beside his chair. But as he read, he realized that, while the light was sufficient, it would be a lot more pleasant if he was reading in the glow of fairy lights. And the string of lights that hung on the branches of a Christmas tree would probably be the perfect concentration to illuminate his reading. He was understanding Hermione’s enamoration with the tiny bulbs.

Damn, was it too late for him to set up his own tree?

* * *

Hermione and her parents were now all sitting in the living room preparing to open gifts. Now that Hermione was fully grown and it was just her, the number of gifts under the tree were paltry, to say the least. Nevertheless, her mother handed her a package. Hermione unwrapped it, a new knitted scarf.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, wrapping the scarf around her neck and probably looking very guilty.

“I don’t even want to know what happened to the other scarf I _slaved_ over for you, so I thought you need another one.”

“It’s perfect! Thank you so much, mum. I will definitely take better care of this one.” 

“We would have gotten more for you but we also did buy you a gift for your wedding.”

“I don’t mind,” Hermione said. “I don’t need much of anything anyway.” She examined the stitches of her scarf more closely. “Hang on. Why did you buy me something? It’s a fake wedding. And I don’t need any crockery.” Hermione also realized this was the first time all day the wedding had come up.

Her mother shrugged. “When we RSVPed ‘yes,’ we received a magical registry of sorts. Of course, we couldn’t get to Diagon Alley to buy you a cauldron, so we hope a Dutch oven will suffice.”

“We spent an arm and a leg on that blasted crockpot, it better do more than _suffice_!” her father added.

“What else was on the registry?” Hermione asked, though she had a fear she knew exactly where this was headed.

“Well, to be honest, most of it was gibberish to us,” her mother said. “But I imagine it was what any new couple would need for their new life together.”

“Do you still have the registry?” Hermione asked, feeling herself grow desperate.

“Yes, but we noticed after a while that items would disappear off it.”

“That’s why we thought it was a magical registry. Things must disappear when another guest buys items off of them,” her father said. “Oh, don’t look so distressed, dear! I’m sure whoever made the list knew exactly what they were doing. Seemed comprehensive as far as I could tell.”

“Don’t you see? I don’t need any of that stuff. It’s fake! People are spending their real money on my fake wedding!” 

“Yes, well, not all of your guests don’t know that and it’s better to keep up appearances,” her mother reasoned.

That certainly made sense. But why did Hermione have a growing sense of dread in the pit of her stomach? 

“That being said, if you don’t like your Dutch oven, please tell me and I will return it. I would hate to spend that much money if you weren’t going to use it.”

As Hermione watched her parents unwrap her gifts to them—books—and to each other—more books—she could not help but wonder what Severus was doing at that moment. She had no doubt that he was not at a church service. He was a deeply practical man and was probably working in his greenhouse or brewing in his home laboratory.

* * *

Another shop, another “Closed” sign. Severus was apparating to every convenience store he remembered in the area around his home to find Christmas lights. He already had the tree—a sprig of rosemary he had transfigured into something much larger. It had smelled much more like rosemary than pine but it did the trick in a pinch. Now all he needed were some lights.

On one hand he was glad that the owners of these stores had taken the holiday off. But on the other hand, he had wanted some of those lights for himself. Sure, he could have created some of his own but he knew the light he created with magic was more of a cool silver than the warm gold he had seen in the Muggle lights.

* * *

Hermione was staring at the Christmas tree while her father and mother argued about whether the roast was done or needed “just ten more minutes.” Hermione sipped from her cocktail, hoping she would get dinner soon—undercooked meat or no.

Looking at the baubles and ornaments placed all along the tree, Hermione realized this was the first year that she had not decorated a tree of her own. It had been quite some time since she had helped her parents put up a tree, but normally she helped at the Weasleys’.

Maybe if she had not been so busy, she could have bought a smaller tree, to fit her small apartment. Of course, she did not have any ornaments of her own but she supposed even a string of lights would have sufficed. She gently cupped a round silver ornament and saw how it reflected the light of the golden-white bulb next to it.

“Hermione, dinner!” her mother called from the other room.

Hermione dropped the ball which hit the branch with a small thwack before joining her parents in the dining room.

* * *

Severus stepped back and admired his handiwork. Sure, he knew deep down it was just a rosemary cutting and his string of lights was not entirely long enough—even after he had resized his “tree”—but when he squinted he imagined it did look kind of like the tree that had stood in the Great Hall all of those years. Squinting, coincidentally, is how he remembered looking at that tree whenever he had woken up hungover, or beaten and bruised from Death Eater meetings, or on special occasions, a combination of the two.

He had forgone dinner to fulfill his quest of getting lights so he returned to his kitchen to heat up more stew. Leaning against his counter he opened up Hermione’s gift to the bookmark. The rest of his house was silent save for his refrigerator and his radiator. Maybe he was going a little crazy but he thought he might actually want to hear Christmas carols.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do know a Dutch oven is not a crock pot. It's a reference to my boyfriend always calling our Dutch oven a "crock pot."


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double posting because last chapter was short!

Hermione could not stop thinking about that blasted registry and what it meant for her and Severus. She really wished she could talk to him about it right now. She ought to go to the Ministry to borrow an owl and write to him. Or maybe she should just visit him. He had not said anything about his plans for Christmas but she realized, with no small amount of guilt, that she probably should have pestered him to spend Christmas with her.

Or maybe he didn’t spend it alone. What did she know?

It was New Year’s Eve and while the office was empty, she and Percy were still there, doing Merlin knew what. She had a mound of work looming beside her but all Percy seemed to be doing was enjoying the coffee she had brought for him.

Whatever. It’s not like she had anything else she would rather be doing.

Or was there?

Was Severus at work too? How was he feeling during this weird liminal period between Christmas and New Year’s? What was he doing for New Year’s? Was he alone? Hermione was going to be alone. She was just planning on being alone in her apartment and going to bed early. But like Christmas, even Percy could not force her to work for New Year’s Day.

Hermione nibbled her pen—a terrible habit that she could not break—while debating what to do next. They were friends now. Friends did stuff together, right?

But part of her still worried if he might have some other plans.

So, he says, “no.” Is that the end of the world?

No? Maybe? She didn’t know.

She really did want to make up for not inviting him to Christmas dinner. And besides, they were less than two weeks away from being married, albeit fake married. She could do this! Hell, he had invited her on a date. This was the least she could do to repay him.

Her mind was made up. She was going to invite him to her place for a little get together.

Well, just after she finished this assignment.

* * *

Severus was pleasantly surprised to see an owl on his windowsill at around 4 o’clock. He knew it had to be from Hermione. Severus opened the window and gave the owl a scratch on its head. He had long ago lifted any wards for her. He took the note and read it.

“Hello, Severus!

I hope you had a good Christmas. Mine was uneventful, but that is just how I like it. Anyway, I was just wondering if you wanted to come to my place tonight to have a little New Year’s get together? It will just be me, so if you’re looking for a wild party, this is not it. (I hope that’s not a deterrent!) Anyway, it won’t be anything big. I was planning on getting a pizza or maybe Chinese and maybe sparkling grape juice?

-Hermione

P.S. Address below”

Severus could not help but chuckle at Hermione’s insinuation that he would want anything but a quiet get-together. He summoned his own pen and parchment and replied.

“Hello, Hermione!

I would love to come see your apartment that your parents could not stop commenting on. I hope it’s big enough for the both of us!”

Severus stopped writing. That might be too touchy of a subject. He crumpled up the paper and threw that attempt on the ground.

“Hello, Hermione!

I would love to come over and spend the evening with you”

No. Definite. No.

“Hello, Hermione!

I would love to. See you then!

-Severus”

Severus had made a point not to write love like his last note, especially after Hermione had signed hers so plainly. He sealed it and handed it to the owl who took off with several powerful beats of its wings. Severus knew the letter was sufficient but it really did not adequately express his excitement.

Yet, precisely when he realized how excited he was, Severus knew he had to slow down. He could not afford to get his hopes up. He might finally be seeing her apartment but that was only probably because she felt bad that he had hosted so many times already.

He closed his eyes. He could do this! He would not appear over-eager and freak her out.

And if--when he closed his eyes--he still felt her hands in her and her head on his shoulder? Well, that was a problem for another day.

* * *

Hermione put out the snacks and walked through her apartment one more time before he arrived. Her room was still a mess with clothes everywhere, but she was sure they would not be going in there. Right? She shook her head. That would be crazy to expect they would.

She looked in the mirror again. She hoped her outfit conveyed New Year’s elegance but also did not seem like she was trying too hard. But she knew that was a lot to ask for from a single outfit, so she resigned herself to it.

* * *

Severus had had some trouble finding her apartment--he walked past it at least three times--but was pleased when he finally saw the buzzer with the name Granger next to it. He pushed it.

“Hello?” He could tell it was her even through the static.

“Hello!” he said in reply. “It’s Severus.”

“Damn, I was hoping you were the pizza guy, but I guess I’ll let you up.”

Severus heard a buzz and the door unlatch before he pulled it open. Hermione had not asked him to bring anything but he would hate to not be a good guest so he had brought some snacks of his own. But right now he was mostly kicking himself for throwing out the bottle of champagne he had received along with his Order of Merlin. That would have made an excellent gift.

He walked inside to a small lobby-type area where the residents’ mailboxes were set into the walls, which were painted a hideous shade of orange. There was also a narrow staircase whose banister was also painted the same, miserable color. He started up the stairs and wondered how the non-magical residents of this place could ever get their furniture into their apartments.

Severus had noticed the apartment number by Hermione’s name, 3A, so he knew which door would be hers when he reached the third floor, however he was surprised to see her waiting for him in the door, wearing a dress he had never seen her in before. She was looking relaxed, slouched against the doorframe, but once she saw him, she straightened up noticeably.

“Happy New Year’s Eve,” he said lamely. Then he thrust his arms forward, holding his snacks out for her take. She did so, but whether she was pleased or displeased with his selection, he could not discern.

Hermione closed the door behind him. Severus shrugged off his jacket. He tried to look around surreptitiously. Was this how Hermione had felt when she first entered his domain, like an interloper? And her parents had not been kidding. It really was tiny. There was a tiny hall. The first door off the hall, directly in front of Severus, led to the equally tiny kitchen. Down the hall, to the right of the kitchen was a living room. To the left of the kitchen was what appeared to be a bathroom, based on what he could make out through the crack in the door left ajar. The final door stood opposite the living room and was resolutely shut. Based on the process of elimination, Severus figured it was her bedroom.

Hermione extended her arm and Severus handed her his coat. He was glad that he was still looking at her and no longer around at her apartment because otherwise he would have missed the bit of comedy where she desperately looked around for a place to put it, before deciding to set it on the arm of her couch.

“You look nice,” he said, fiddling with his sleeves.

Hermione looked down at her dress as if she had forgotten what she was wearing before saying, “Thank you. You look nice as well.”

For as much as he thought it was funny--in an endearing way--of how Hermione looked down at her outfit, Severus mirrored her actions and looked down at his outfit. It was a button-up and his usual black trousers. He knew she was being polite but it was funny considering this was his usual attire.

But Hermione seemed to pick up on this because she hurriedly added, “I mean, you always look good.” This caused her to redden even more.

“And do not think that I am implying that you don’t always look exceptionally good,” Severus said, but he was not sure why. Well, if he could be even more stilted and awkward, then maybe she would not feel so embarrassed.

“The pizza should be here any moment if you’re hungry,” Hermione added, not looking at him. But Severus could see her clearly and he could still see the color in her cheeks. How beautiful it made her look.

* * *

Hermione did not know what she had been thinking when she planned this party so early in the evening. Sure, it was eight o’clock, which had seemed reasonable at the time, but she realized it was still quite a ways till midnight and she had no idea what she was going to do with Severus until then.

Perhaps they could watch a movie.

“Would you like to watch a film while we wait?” Severus nodded, though she was not sure how interested he actually was. How could she have thought this was a good idea again? 

And then she heard her buzzer go off again. “Er, you can look at my DVD collection, while I get our pizza.”

* * *

Severus did as he was bidden and looked at the row of DVDs under the stand of Hermione’s television. Severus did not take Hermione for the cinephile type, but maybe this was a part of her that was still a mystery to him. However, when he looked at her collection, he realized with a somewhat heavy heart that these were not hers at all. They were all action movies. Or maybe, once again, he was overestimating how much he knew her. Still, he persevered through the task and looked through them again, trying to find something they could watch.

Hermione returned with a pizza in hand and a sad look on her face. He could not understand why she looked that way until she explained, “I am so sorry. I had forgotten entirely.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean the DVDs? I mean, they’re not masterpieces but…”

Hermione snorted. “You don’t have to pretend. They’re not mine. I am quite aware of their quality… or lack thereof. They’re… _his_. He left them. I have been meaning to get rid of them. But…” But she could not bear to get rid of them? He did not dare to think that though. It would break his heart. “I guess they do come in handy for nights like tonight.”

“I mean, we can watch television too,” she added quickly. “Or we could talk.”

Severus laughed awkwardly. “Talking works.”

“Alright,” Hermione said, gesturing to the couch. Severus took her up her offer and sat down next to his coat. Hermione snuck into the other room to get their snacks which she tried to lay artfully on her little coffee table. “Should I get the bubbly or is it a bit early to tuck into it?”

“Water is fine for now,” Severus responded.

Hermione left the little living room and took the, presumably, two steps to the tiny kitchen and returned in short order with two glasses of water. She handed him his and he could not help but notice that their fingers touched when she gave it to him.

* * *

Maybe it was because her hands were cold from holding the glasses; but when their fingers brushed, Hermione was reminded of how warm Severus’s hands were. Some people might think, based on his icy personality, that Severus would be cold. Yet every time their skin had made contact, he was the most pleasant sort of warm.

She took her own seat beside him trying hard not to think about his warm hands holding her perennially cold ones and definitely not to think about the way he had called her “pretty” earlier.

“So, have you been working these past couple of days?” he asked.

Hermione nodded. This was what he wanted to talk about? Work? She was nursing her own glass of water and took a big sip before continuing. “Yes, I have been.”

“And how has that been?”

“Fine,” she answered. “Just me and Percy.”

“Has he been treating you well?”

Hermione just nodded again. Here was her chance to steer the conversation to something else. “What have you been up to?”

“Reading,” he said with a little bit of a grin. Hermione did not get it at first, until he added, “the book you got me. I’ve found it very enlightening. For example, do you know what a drupe is?”

Hermione shook her head. This was not a terrible idea. If they could talk about plants all night, they wouldn’t have to talk about anything else. 

“It’s a stone fruit. Like a peach. Well, get this, a raspberry is also drupe, but each little section has its own ‘seed,’ so they’re called ‘drupelets.’”

Hermione nodded eagerly, tucking that knowledge away for who knows when. It’s not like she had any more teachers to impress with her knowledge and Percy sure as hell did not care. Her friends had always threatened to take her to a pub quiz, but she doubted that they would be doing that now.

“And the members of the stone fruit genus, which is called _Prunus_ , and they are distantly-related to roses. In fact they are all in the rose family, _Rosaceae_ …”

In some ways Hermione could not believe she was sitting there, in her living room, with Professor Snape. But she supposed the even weirder part was that the man was now doing exactly what he had criticized her for when she was his student.

“What? What did I say?” he asked, drawing her back to the conversation at hand.

“I did not say anything.”

“You made a face,” he insisted.

“I did? Well, I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, regardless of if you meant to or not, you did.”

Hermione knew Severus was joking and was being lighthearted about the whole thing but she still did not want to say anything to hurt his feelings.

“I just think it’s ironic,” she began.

“What’s ironic?”

She gestured with her hand as if that explained anything. “You know… you’re basically repeating a book to me.”

Severus looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, “Oh. I understand now.”

“So, you understand now why I made a face?”

“Yes,” Severus said with a chuckle. “I can stop.”

“No! No, don’t you dare. I just thought it was funny.”

“You want me to continue?”

“Of course, anything to get my mind off…” she waved her hand beside her head, “everything.”

“It is a lot, isn’t it?”

“I know. And I don’t even know what’s being served at the reception. I don’t even have a right to be stressed. That’s all Phaedra’s job. Did you know she sent out a gift registry thing?” Severus shook his head. “I wouldn’t have known either. So, it’s like, do I even have a right to be stressed? Merlin, I said I did not want to talk about it, but here I go, talking about it.”

“No, you have every right to be stressed.”

“And I am a little ashamed people are going to be spending money on gifts for us. Gifts we don’t even need! And I certainly don’t have space for them, so I don’t want to make you take them. I must sound so ungrateful. Getting upset about receiving gifts.”

“Well, asking for gifts does end an air of legitimacy.”

“I know. But at this point, how many people know it isn’t real? I can’t imagine it’s a very well kept secret now.” Hermione sat there with that feeling. Was it good or bad that more and more people were aware it was all fake? Severus shrugged. Hermione immediately felt bad. He probably did not want to talk about it either. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We can go back to talking about your plants. That’s much happier isn’t it?”

* * *

Severus was beating himself up. He wanted Hermione to know he was comfortable talking about their wedding, especially since it concerned both of them.

“No, I want to talk about it. I have concerns too.” Hermione made a face at that. Shit, that was not the right thing to say. “I mean, I understand what you’re saying.”

“You might think this is crazy,” Hermione said, biting her lip, “but I think this is an indication of something worse to come. I don’t think our pain ends here. I think they will want us to move in together. And… who knows what after that.”

Severus wanted to say that it would be fine if he had to move in with Hermione. But he also knew that is not what she wanted to hear at all. “Whatever you think is the right thing to do, I will do. After all, we’re in this together right?”

Hermione smiled but Severus could not help but notice the tiny blush that crept back into her cheeks. Merlin, she was too pretty for him. This was bad, very bad. Why was he alone with her in her apartment again?

Severus cleared his throat. “Have you been reading your book?” he asked, hoping it was not too presumptuous to assume that she had begun to read his gift, especially when she had been so excited by it. But Hermione shook her head sadly.

“I only had time to read during Christmas. I have been working the rest of the time. It’s unfortunate really.” She brightened a little. “I would love to regale you with facts about space.”

“Well,” he said, “I could continue to tell you about plants.”

“Please do,” she said, moving closer to him on the couch and resting her head in her hands and her elbows on her knees.

* * *

Severus chuckled at Hermione’s gesture which made Hermione smile as well. She realized then how much she loved his laugh. With his deep voice, it was certainly unlike one she had ever heard before and she would definitely remember it for a long time after this.

He continued to talk about the rose family while Hermione was hit with a fresh wave of sadness, not only as she was once more reminded that this thing was temporary, but also because she realized how much she enjoyed having him over and talking to him about books. Hell, it didn’t even have to be about books. She just enjoyed being next to him and hearing him talk. She did not think anybody had ever said this about Severus Snape before, but he was cute when he talked about something he was excited about. It was positively endearing.

“What?” he said. It was then that Hermione noticed that she had stopped listening and she was just staring at him.

“I, uh, nothing.” She looked at the clock. “I think it’s time we can start into the bubbly.”

Hermione walked into her tiny kitchen and bent down to reach into her tinier fridge to pull out the bottle of sparkling grape juice that was chilling there. It was the only other thing in her fridge.

She untwisted the aluminum wrapping off the top and unscrewed the lid. There was some fizz but it was significantly less exciting than opening a bottle of champagne. Alas, it was considerably safer.

Hermione definitely did not have two champagne flutes—let alone wine glasses—so she transfigured the regular glasses she had into what she hoped was a passable attempt at a champagne flute. She poured the sparkling grape juice—no need to be worried about too much when there was no alcohol—into the transfigured glasses.

She put the grape juice back in the fridge before returning to the couch with both glasses in hand. She handed one to Severus before taking a big sip of her own.

Considerably less fun than champagne, indeed.

Then she noticed that Severus was not drinking from his glass, just sitting there twiddling the stem between his fingers. Hermione had assumed he would drink it—even though she had only seen him drink water lately—because it was for the holiday, but maybe it was too sweet for him.

“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” he asked.

“No, you couldn’t possibly bore me!” Hermione said hurriedly. “I was just thinking about how much I just like being next to you.” Oh. Had she said that last part aloud? Hermione took a big gulp of her drink.

“Oh,” Severus said, taking his own drink.

“How is it?” she asked, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction entirely. “Not too sweet, I hope.”

“No, it’s quite good actually.” A lie? “I must admit I have somewhat of a sweet tooth.”

“Really? Then why did you reject my offer for hot chocolate on our date?” Hermione had not meant to call it a date. But since she had been referring it to in her head as such, it was hard not to call it that.

But he either did not notice her slip-up or did not care. Instead, Severus laughed. Was he usually this giggly? No. Another adjective that had never been used to describe Severus Snape: giggly. “I’m sorry. I did not realize I had offended. It’s just… I cannot indulge too frequently on sweets. Your parents know all about that.”

Hermione nodded solemnly. Her parents had been giving her sugar-free treats for as long as she could remember.

“Would you look at the time?” she asked, noticing the clock behind Severus’s head. “Would you like to watch the ball drop?”

Before receiving an answer, Hermione stood up and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels, hoping to find what she was looking for. When she found it, the camera panned to a smiling couple. Then she was painfully reminded of all of the times Ron had begged her to take her to the event as soon as he had learned of its existence. But she had explained it would be packed and cold and miserable. He had told her she was no fun.

He was right.

“You know, you live in London. How far would it be to walk to this?” Severus asked. “Not that I actually want to go. It would be crowded and altogether miserable.”

Hermione could not help but smile at that.

They continued to watch her television in amicable silence. Once more she could feel the warmth that came along with just being around someone you--well, not _loved_ , exactly--had fond feelings about.

When they panned over to another happy couple, Hermione suddenly remembered a New Year’s tradition. The kiss. At midnight. 

Suddenly that warm, bubbly feeling was dissipating. It was becoming sour in the pit of her stomach. Not because she did not enjoy kissing him, but because she was still so unsure. And it would be awkward.

* * *

Severus was only now remembering the tradition that he had been forced to endure every year at the Hogwarts New Year’s party. Sure, no one had forced their lips on his, but he was certainly always threatened.

He and Hermione had kissed before. And he remembered every kiss with startling clarity but lately they had been so organic—not at all forced. Would this feel forced? Would they only be doing this because they felt obligated to follow some silly tradition. What was the reason anyway? Good luck? He did not believe in such a thing and he doubted Hermione did either. The continuation of their relationship? Well, that was even sillier because their relationship would continue as long as the Ministry dictated it would.

He snuck at quick glance at Hermione who looked about as uncomfortable as he did. He made up his mind then not to press the issue, even if they had kissed in the past. Whatever this thing between them was, he was content to go at Hermione’s pace.

The ball fell without much fanfare from either of them. He realized they were both probably feeling too uncomfortable to even count. But maybe it would also be weird to count with only the two of them there.

Severus picked up his and Hermione’s glass and placed them next to the sink. He would have placed them in the dishwasher or something but he was not sure she even had one. He supposed it was time for him to leave.

He returned to the living room, rubbing the back of his head and staring at the ground. “I guess now’s the time for me to go.”

* * *

Hermione stood up to join him. She did not want him to leave but she was not about to beg him to stay either. The night had come to its natural close.

“I will get your coat,” she offered, bending over to retrieve it from the arm of her sofa. When she handed it to him, their hands barely touched. She so wished she had the nerve to take his in hers and squeeze it just like he had done before he had met her parents.

He stood in front of the door, his coat in hand. “Here’s to another great year,” he said.

“Yes, hopefully it will be just as exciting as the last.”

“Don’t know how that’s possible,” he joked.

They looked at each other again before looking away shyly and returning their gazes back to each other. Before Hermione knew what was happening, they were closing the distance between one another. They were threading their fingers through each other’s hair and kissing.

Wow. Hermione did not know if she had ever been kissed like this. Hell, Hermione did not know if _she_ had ever kissed like this. It was like they were never going to see each other again.

It seemed like they might not ever stop kissing one another when a loud bang broke them apart. Hermione was breathing fast and she saw that Severus now had his wand out and was looking around. He was also noticeably out of breath.

Hermione laughed, mostly from nerves. “It’s the fireworks, Severus.”

Severus straightened up. “Yes, how silly of me. How could I forget? Well…” he said, turning to the door.

This time Hermione did really want to beg him to stay but if she did, she was not sure what would happen. Not only was her room in desperate need of a cleaning, she also did not think they could handle that. Everything was confusing enough as it is—they did not need _that_ to complicate things further.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night,” he said.

He was almost out the door before Hermione said, “Severus!”

“Yes?” he asked.

“Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, Hermione.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triple posting because I haven't updated in a month

Severus wished stag and hen parties did not traditionally involve the bride and groom separated from each other. He knew that was their entire point, but he still wanted to spend that time with Hermione. She was his friend, his _person_ , and even though he knew it was dangerous to think of her in this way, he still did not want to be making potentially fun memories without her.

But maybe he was deluding himself in more way than one because it was not as if this would be fun. Phaedra was orchestrating the whole thing and it was only supposed to _look_ wild, not actually _be_ wild.

Severus opened the drawers of his wardrobe one by one. What did one wear to a bachelor party? Was it supposed to be casual? Severus did not really only anything that would be considered casual, except for a ratty old pair of jeans and old t-shirts that were either stained in the armpits or too small for him.

Then again, if Pheadra was the mastermind behind all of this, she would bring him something to wear. It was not as if their previous deceptions had not come with a full wardrobe. So Severus put on his usual uniform of a dark pair of trousers and a button-down shirt.

He went to work as usual and continued about his tasks, content to think of anything besides a fake party. Then he heard Todd arrive—another welcome distraction.

“Good morning,” Severus said, as he walked into the main room.

Todd looked up from whatever he was doing—though Severus doubted it was actually work—his shock written plainly across his face. Severus had never been overly friendly with him but maybe that did not need to be the case any longer.

“Did you have a pleasant Christmas?” Severus asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. Todd had rebuffed his offers to spend Christmas with Severus, so that meant he had spent it suffering with his family.

“You could say that,” Todd said, noncommittally.

Severus was fairly certain he was being sarcastic but a part of him still hoped that maybe Todd had patched things over with his family.

“You?” Todd asked after a moment. 

“Oh, you know,” Severus said, mirroring Todd’s nonchalant tone. “The usual. I read a lot.”

Todd nodded. “Yes, I suppose you must be fond of reading.”

Severus did not know what to make of that statement. Was Todd trying to tell him something? “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

After a good, long day of work, Severus shed his apron and walked to the door to lock up. Normally Todd was gone at this point but today he was apparently waiting for Severus by the door.

“Hello,” Severus said, not trying to conceal the confusion in his voice.

Todd rubbed the back of his neck apprehensively. “Sorry I did not ask before but I was thinking that maybe we could go together. Y’know, since we’re going to the same place.”

Severus quirked an eyebrow. They were going to the same place? What was he talking about? Todd couldn’t possibly have meant the stag party. Although, Severus had been unclear about whether Todd would be in attendance if his relationship with his sister was still rocky.

“Yes. Of course,” Severus said, holding the door open for his employee. He closed the door and put up the locking enchantments. The party was to start at a local pub—Phaedra had owled him the address—so they started off in that direction.

“So,” Severus began, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Does this mean you’ll be one of my groomsmen as well?”

Todd laughed. Certainly not the response Severus was expecting. “Phaedra didn’t tell you?” Severus shook his head. “Typical Phee, keeping secrets. Do you even know who your groomsmen are?”

“I have… somewhat of an idea.” Severus knew of Potter, his former coworkers, and now he definitely knew Todd was involved. That had to be all of them. How many more could one man possibly need?

“Do you think when I get married Phee will do everything for me? Because I would love to be as blissfully unaware as you are right now. Would probably add a couple of years to my lifespan.”

“I’m not _blissfully_ unaware. I just…”

“No, I get it. In your case, you’re purposefully being kept in the dark. But I’m sure it helps you sleep better at night.”

Todd was right, of course. Being kept far from everything probably did sugarcoat the bitter pill. Then again, did Todd know how much of sweet temptation Hermione was on her own? Todd would probably think less of him for enduring all of this for a pair of brown eyes. Then again, did he understand where Severus was coming from? What Severus had endured? Maybe at this point in his life, he deserved a good night’s rest.

Severus wanted to protest but he also did not want to argue with Todd, especially if he pointed out any more uncomfortable truths.

“Well, I think we’ve arrived,” Todd said, stopping before the most mundane, pedestrian, run-of-the-mill pub Severus had ever seen. If he had not been given an address, he probably would have never been able to find this place on his own. Where had Phaedra even found this place? Or, if Todd’s familiarity was any indication, maybe her brother was a regular. 

Severus had never been to a stag party before, but he knew enough about them from various pieces of media to know they usually involved forms of debauchery. Hopefully it had been made abundantly clear that that was not what he wanted in the least, but he had been assured that everything would be fake. Still, he was not looking forward to explaining his sobriety to everyone.

He and Todd sidled up to the bar, but there was no one else to be seen. Todd ordered a John Collins, which lent credence to Severus’s theory that he frequented Muggle bars—most magical people Severus had gone out with had needed help ordering Muggle drinks. Severus ordered a Roy Rogers, a non-alcoholic cocktail. If Todd thought it was silly, he said nothing.

Filius was the first to arrive. It had been many years since Severus had seen the man and it seemed he was now sporting new facial hair. It was not good or bad, in Severus’s eyes, just different. Though, admittedly, he was not much of a facial hair expert. That was more Hermione’s beat. Severus smiled at the thought of her.

* * *

Phaedra stopped at Hermione’s desk at the end of the work day with a shopping bag in hand.

“Are you ready?” Phaedra asked.

“What’s in the bag?” Hermione asked in return, realizing that she was not answering the question.

“Just a couple of goodies for tonight,” she said, shaking the bag.

Hermione turned around to give Percy a conspicuous glance, but he had his face buried in some report or other. She figured that since she was going out early, it was alright because it was work-related and she was going with Phaedra, someone who Percy seemed to like.

But when Hermione turned back to Phaedra to nod, she saw Phaedra making a sour face. She was not entirely sure, but she was fairly certain that it was aimed at Percy. Interesting. Maybe Hermione had been wrong about how close the soon-to-be in-laws really were.

“Is this alright?” Hermione asked, gesturing to her rather drab outfit.

“What do you think the bag is for?” Phaedra asked, shaking the bag again.

“Alright. I put my faith in the bag.”

They left the Ministry and began their journey to Merlin-knows-where. Hermione’s thoughts kept drifting back to Severus, wondering how he was similarly fairing. She wished she could be there with him, even though that defeated the point of the nights. Even though she had begged Phaedra to make things tame and calm, Hermione still did not have a clear picture of what would be occurring tonight and she wished she could be there to reassure Severus, especially since she did not know how his sobriety would be treated.

“You don’t have to worry. He’s in capable hands. Todd’s hands, to be precise,” Phaedra said.

Hermione looked at the woman walking next to her suspiciously. She still had not ruled out the possibility that Phaedra wasn’t using Legilimency on her. Phaedra laughed.

“I can tell based on the deep crease on your forehead that you’re worried and what else would you be stressing about? It’s really cute, actually,” Phaedra explained.

Hermione wanted to protest that she was definitely not thinking about Severus Snape, but she knew it was fruitless now. Phaedra was too damn perceptive for her own good. That’s probably why she made the face at Percy—she knew Hermione was not his biggest fan.

“Can I ask you something?” she began, wanting to talk about anything else.

“Yes. I think you deserve as much.”

“Oh… well, I was just going to ask you why you and Todd have such different names.”

Phaedra laughed. “Alright. Not what I expected as all, but, as promised, I will answer. Todd and I are half-bloods. Our dad is a wizard and our mum is a Muggle. Each of them got to pick one of our name’s.”

Hermione nodded. This did make some sense. “You would think that my dad was the one who picked my name, but it was actually my mum.” Phaedra chuckled. “And when I learned that Phaedra was sister to the Minotaur in mythology, I used to tease Todd that he would sprout a bull’s head.”

“Sounds better than my namesake. Hermione was engaged to her cousin then to a different man and then when he died, she married her cousin.”

“Phaedra did not get off easy either. She was married to Theseus after he dumped her sister, Ariadne, but then she fell in love with Theseus’s son by another woman.”

“Wow. No woman ever gets off easy in those stories, does she?”

“No, she does not. And she’s always defined by the man she’s marrying.”

Hermione and Phaedra shared an uncomfortable silence.

“Here we are!” Phaedra said, stopping in front of a bar.

“Is this a Muggle bar?” Hermione asked, trying not to wrinkle her nose.

“Yes! They are so trendy among magical folk right now. This particular one is not very popular now but it will be once every paper is writing about it,” Phaedra said, before opening the door.

“Well, I suppose as long as we’re supporting local businesses,” Hermione said, taking the door from Phaedra.

Phaedra had not been lying when she said the bar was not very popular. The inside was as dingy as its exterior. This was not all what Hermione had been expecting when she thought of the type of bar you visit with your gal pals for a hen party. But at least the drinks would not be very expensive.

* * *

The rest of Severus’s groomsmen trickled in after Filius. Hagrid, Slughorn, and Longbottom. Severus was not sure why Longbottom had been included, but he suspected it was due to his friendship with Hermione. Potter, as if he knew his presence was the most nerve-wracking, came last. But he shook Severus’s hand like an old friend.

Alright. Now that they were all there, what would they do? What did such a group even talk about? They could only discuss the weather for so long. But rather mercifully Slughorn began talking about potions. Merlin, Severus knew he was in trouble when he actually wanted to talk to Slughorn about potions. Normally he found his observations mundane. A younger Severus would still be bitter about never having been invited to the Slug Club, whereas older Severus had long stopped caring.

“I’ve heard you set up your own shop,” Slughorn said. Severus nodded but was not looking at his conversation partner at all. “How’s business?”

“It’s been going well.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Slughorn said. That finally caught Severus’s attention.

“And why’s that?”

“Because then there’s less of a chance I can convince you to return to teaching. Minerva won’t let me retire until I can secure a replacement.”

“That _is_ unfortunate because there is absolutely nothing you can say that would convince me to return to Hogwarts.”

“Indeed,” Slughorn said as if he had not just heard what Severus had said. “Though I am afraid that it’s the students who will suffer the most since you were always better at teaching than I.”

Severus considered his conversation partner once more. He knew not to be taken in by the man, since flattery had always been his _modus operandi_. But Severus could not help but see the truth in his words.

“Professor!” Severus cringed at the title. Potter and Longbottom were approaching him.

“We’ve been given strict instructions by Todd to carry you from the bar,” Potter said. Severus raised an eyebrow.

“You two are hardly strong enough to carry me. Hagrid might be better suited to the task.”

“No, you don’t understand. With your arms draped around our necks.”

Severus considered them for a moment. “I’m supposed to appear intoxicated?” he inferred.

“Yes,” Potter replied.

Severus downed his mocktail in a gulp. “Alright, let’s go.”

* * *

Hermione was standing beside Phaedra, already on her second Old Fashioned, when she noticed the woman pull out a small rectangle of plastic. Hermione recognized it as a mobile telephone. Even Hermione, a full-blown Muggleborn, did not have one. But she had no reason to buy one since the only other people who would contact her with one would be parents. And she did not mind that they could only reach her at home.

Ashamed of her sudden curiosity, Hermione wondered if Phaedra was talking to Ron. But she put away the phone before Hermione could get a glimpse.

“Finish your drinks, girls,” Phaedra said. She turned to Hermione and bent down to rummage in her bag. She pulled out a pink sash and draped it over Hermione. Hermione tilted her chin to look at it and saw that it read “Bride to Be.” While Hermione was still examining the sash, she felt something poke in her head. She touched her head. Phaedra apparently had jammed a plastic tiara into her hair.

Hermione was about to protest when she saw that Phaedra had moved on to Ginny. Ginny showed off her own sash, which was similarly pink but said “Maid of Honor.” Hermione, apparently, was the only one who had received a tiara. 

“Alright, now let’s change into our cocktail dresses.” Phaedra handed Hermione a scrap of sparkly fabric. “Here, I brought one for you.”

“Won’t we be cold?” Hermione said, before Phaedra gave her a tall, spiky pair of stilettos.

“It’s only for the cameras,” Phaedra said, handing her an unopened package of fishnet stockings. “And you’re a witch. We’ll cast warming charms.”

Phaedra spun Hermione and pointed her in the direction of the bathroom. The single barkeep seemed hardly to notice anything, just mindlessly wiping down the bar. Certainly an act of confounding done by Phaedra and it was apparently entirely legal since she was doing it for the Ministry.

In the dingy bar bathroom, Hermione stepped out of her trousers, but kept her shoes on. There was no way she was standing on this floor in her bare feet. She pulled her sweater over her head. Noticing that this was another strapless dress from Phaedra, she made the straps of her old, dingy bra mostly invisible. She slipped the dress on but no alterations were necessary—perhaps Phaedra had purchased this dress for Hermione instead of lending her one of her own. Using her wand Hermione was able to zip up the dress, which surprisingly was the least difficult part of her wardrobe change.

Hermione eyed the fishnet stockings in their package. She was not sure what Phaedra was thinking with these, but Hermione supposed they did scream “one last night of debauchery with your friends before you’re tied down forever in a loveless marriage.”

She scourgified the toilet seat before sitting down and began trying to roll the stockings up her leg. She had never worn tights such as these but she did suppose they could not be any different from any other pair she had worn.

Hermione listened closely but neither Ginny nor Phaedra seemed to be grunting in frustration as much as she was. With some concerted butt and leg wiggling, Hermione managed to get them on. Then it was time for the torture shoes.

Phaedra had said they wouldn’t be wearing them for long but Hermione still did not know how she could even successfully leave the bar wearing them, let alone the stall she was currently inhabiting.

She stood up, wobbly on her legs like a newborn calf. She steaded herself against the wall of the stall but was immediately repelled by the stickiness she found there.

“Doing alright?” Phaedra asked.

“Yes, this is just my first time getting dressed in a bathroom,” she said, opening the stall door. Hermione was surprised to see that not only was Phaedra already standing there in her a short, blue dress nearly identical to Hermione’s but Ginny was there in her maid of honor sash over a green number.

“Listen to Miss Fancypants, here. Never had to use a toilet as an impromptu changing room,” Ginny said.

“You say that like you do that a lot,” Hermione retorted.

“Yes! I do! I am on the road nearly constantly!” Right. Hermione should have realized that. How could she forget?

“Do you scourgify the whole thing beforehand? I can’t believe I did not think of that sooner.”

Ginny looked confused. “When you’re barfing your brains out, kinda hard to care about how dirty the floor is. Mostly you’re just trying to keep your hair out of the way. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Mione.”

“I just can’t believe I never knew that about you.”

“What? That I go to clubs sometimes? Well, I would have invited you if that seemed like your thing.”

“Nope!” Hermione said. “Definitely the right decision on your part.”

“So, are we ready to go?” Phaedra asked.

* * *

The whole lot of them apparated into an even dingier looking alley than the one they had left. Severus could feel the rattling bass in his chest almost before he heard it. There were people queuing outside the building; but instead of joining the back of the queue, Todd led them to the front, where a large man, who was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark out, waved them inside. 

Severus, from what little he knew of nightlife, thought this was reserved for people with immense social capital. Either the man in the sunglasses had known they were coming, or perhaps he had seen Hagrid and knew he was outmatched.

Though he had heard the music from outside the building, Severus was almost bowled over when they went inside and he heard it again at full volume. He had been to loud concerts when he was young, but he was older now and he had been through some things.

The bar was one thing—that bar was at least quiet—but going to the club? What had Phaedra been thinking?

And then Severus saw the women dancing on the tables. He turned away abruptly, which earned him some laughs by the rest of his group. Severus did not know what was funny. This was the exact opposite of what he wanted. But luckily they were not stopping to stare and Todd continued to lead them farther and farther back into the club. It was somewhat difficult to get there however as Severus had to push past several drunk, sweaty people, but eventually they were all stopped in front of a door. Todd knocked, although how someone could hear a knock through all this din was a mystery to Severus.

Severus did not know what he was expecting what he would see on the other side of the door, but he definitely had not anticipated a nearly empty room with only a few bottles of champagne sitting inside of an ice bucket. The room already seemed to be soundproofed somewhat but once the door was closed, Severus saw Todd wave his wand and it was blissfully quiet once more.

He looked around and saw that everyone was taking a seat on the velvet upholstered wraparound sofa that encircled the room. He wondered what went on in this room and specifically on this sofa, but tried not to think about it as he rested his bottom against its red cushions.

He was still on edge because he did not know what else the night entailed but he hoped that Phaedra had just wanted to see them go into the club and they would just leave when the appropriate amount of time had passed.

Todd opened the first champagne bottle and filled a glass for everyone, including Severus. Severus just held the glass in his hand, fiddling with the stem. He seemed to be in contact with champagne flutes a lot lately and he imagined that would only increase as they neared the wedding. He had no one to share it with now, but in the future he could probably pass them off to Hermione.

After a moment of contemplating the bubbles in his glass, Severus realized that maybe he would have preferred standing outside in the loud noise, lights, and among the dancing women. Anything would be preferable to sitting in this room with his old coworkers, current employee, and former students.

Severus looked up from his glass and noticed they were all doing the same thing as him. Hagrid was slouched on the couch, his knees nearly touching his chin. Potter and Longbottom were looking at the floor. Todd was on a mobile telephone which Severus was not even aware he owned. The only two who looked happy were Filius and Slughorn who were sipping merrily.

“I hope my stag night is almost as exciting as this,” Potter joked, clearly trying to inject some humor into the situation.

“Not everyone knows quite how to get into trouble like you, Harry, my boy,” Slughorn said, clearly missing the joke.

“You’re quite right, sir,” Potter said, flashing a smile.

“How many points were you responsible to Gryffindor for losing?” Potter seemed to contemplate the number in earnest before Slughorn jumped in, “I’m certain a majority of those were from your dear, old Professor Snape.”

 _Dear? Old?_ Severus was not old. At least not compared to Slughorn.

“They might have been,” Potter said, grinning cheekily in Severus’s direction. Severus, for his part, kept his mien unreadable. “But don’t think I didn’t deserve it.”

That earned a laugh from everyone in the room.

“Might I interject?” Longbottom asked, surprising everyone. “Actually, I believe the teacher who was responsible for deducting the most points from Gryffindor was none other than the head of Gryffindor herself.”

That also earned a chorus of chuckles and nods and murmured agreements. Severus wondered what the Headmistress was up to now. Severus was not entirely sure who was in Hermione’s bridal party but he did not think Minerva would be counted among them. He certainly could not imagine her doing something as silly as this. Then again, would he ever imagine himself doing it?

* * *

They had walked outside into the cold evening with their ridiculous get-ups but Hermione had used the most powerful warming charm she knew and Phaedra had told her a stabilizing spell for preventing sprained ankles while wearing stilts.

Hermione hoped the newspapers and magazines had gotten the pictures they wanted. A gust of wind had blown her hair over her tiara—which Phaedra and Ginny were currently trying to help her disentangle—and Hermione had been worried in that moment that it might blow up her tiny skirt but then she realized no sticking charm could ever compare to a body-con dress.

Now they found themselves in a peculiar room in the back of a club, in which Hermione was being helped through the ordeal of removing the tiara from her nest of hair. She had already changed back into her regular clothes after the cameras had got their pictures of them entering this establishment.

“Tell me what Severus is doing at this moment,” Hermione said, trying to get her mind off the tugging on her scalp. “He can’t be having more fun than us.”

“Actually,” Phaedra said, “he’s not having the worst time ever. Todd was worried at first that the motley crew I had assembled was a bit too motley but they’re getting through it.”

“Todd’s there?” Hermione asked. She had not been aware that Phaedra’s brother would actually show up since, based on what Severus had told her, the two were not exactly on good terms. Now he was helping Phaedra with stag night?

“Yes, I guilted him into helping out. Although it helps that Severus is such a good boss. Didn’t need to use quite so much guilt.”

Hermione wondered what she even could be guilting her brother with. She looked to Ginny for some sort of clue of what was going on but her friend had her tongue out and eyes crossed,trying to dislodge the piece of plastic from her bird’s nest of hair.

“Don’t tell me you have such a tiara for the wedding as well,” Hermione joked. But she had not anticipated the disappointed look on Phaedra’s face.

“I may have planned on you having a tiara… albeit a much nicer one.”

Let me guess, Hermione thought, it would be silver. “Oh, if it’s very nice, I might walk away with it and you’ll never see it again.”

“Ha!” Ginny laughed. “Good luck selling it if you can’t even get it off your head. Hell, good luck getting this one off your head. Phee might just have to make due with this one.”

“I could just cut all my hair off and then that problem would be solved.” Phaedra and Ginny shared a look and then started laughing. “What?” Hermione asked, looking from one to the other.

“Well…” Phaedra began. “It’s just… the shape of your face—”

“Because you would look terrible with short hair, Mione!”

Hermione felt her face scrunch up. She crossed her arms. “What is that supposed to mean? You don’t think I could pull it off? But anyway, it’s not about what I look like. Who cares if I don’t meet some arbitrary standard of beauty?”

Phaedra looked uncomfortable. “I mean… I appreciate the sentiment. But please keep your hair long until the wedding.”

Hermione laughed but rather than being happy it came out forced and awkward. “Or what?”

“I know a hair growing spell and it is very effective but not very accurate so your eyebrows and armpit hair will also probably grow as well.”

“I don’t know…” Hermione said. “That just might be _the look_.”

They all shared a laugh and they continued to pull the tiara from Hermione’s hair. Still she could not help but feel a little bit bad that not only did she look terrible with short hair but she also had little autonomy over her appearance now. Never more had she wanted to cut her hair short.

And isn’t that what had happened to Severus? He had had to get his hair cut to fit some metric of what they wanted in a man.

“You alright, Hermione?” Phaedra asked.

“Yep, I’m fine. More than fine, in fact.”

“Excellent. Do you want a glass of champagne?”

* * *

“And how have you been?” Slughorn asked, turning his attention to Todd. “Chadwick, is it?”

“Chapman, sir,” Todd corrected gently. “Todd Chapman.”

“Well, Tom, what have you been up to?”

“I work for Mr. Snape,” Todd said with a smile in Severus’s direction.

“Do you now?” Slughorn looked at Severus, visibly confused. “Forgive me for asking, but I don’t remember you having a particular aptitude for potions, Tim.”

Todd laughed. “You are not mistaken, sir. I am terrible at the subject. But Mr. Snape keeps me around for public relations purposes.”

“Does he now? That makes sense. Talking to people was never Severus’s best subject.” Slughorn chuckled loudly at his own joke. “But I suppose this did not deter, Miss Granger.”

Severus frowned. He was fine being picked on, but he did not want Hermione being dragged into this. But also, was Slughorn already not aware that this was a fake wedding?

“Our Hermione is the brightest witch of her age,” Hagrid interjected. “She needs someone just as bright to keep up.”

After he said that, Hagrid nodded at Severus. He had not realized that he needed Hagrid’s approval for his relationship—well, it was mostly friendship, anyway—but it pleased him that he now had it.

* * *

“Well, we have good news, Hermione,” Phaedra said, closing her phone. “They have all of the pictures they want, so you don’t have to put the tiara back on.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken them three glasses of champagne to get the tiara off her head. She was definitely going to be feeling this tomorrow: the pulled hair and the hangover.

* * *

The night ended after an hour of inane chatter. Todd told Severus he was free to go after the papers had told Phaedra that they had all of the pictures they needed. Severus was surprised at how abruptly it ended, especially since he was just starting to have a good time with his groomsmen. He said goodbye to all of them and thanked them for coming.

“See you at the rehearsal, sir,” Potter said when he left.

Of course, Severus had almost forgotten. There was still the rehearsal. Well, at least he would see Hermione again.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday update for some Friday fun! 😊

The day of the wedding rehearsal had arrived and to her disappointment, Hermione still had not seen Severus since their impromptu date at her apartment. Sure, they were both busy people but her stress levels had been mounting steadily and she had wished she could talk to him, since he could usually put her mind at ease, at least for a little while. She could have talked to Ginny or Phaedra, she supposed, but how could she adequately explain her feelings about Severus and the wedding, when she could barely articulate them to herself? But with Severus there was no need for explanation, he just _understood._

Hermione was unsure what one wore to their own wedding rehearsal. Phaedra had said there would be no photographers there, but she figured she should at least try to look somewhat presentable. Hermione thought she might be safe in her work uniform, a blouse and trousers.

She checked her watch. Hermoione still had to meet her parents so they could drive to the apparition point to get to Hogwarts. She could not believe she would be getting married at her school, of all places. When she had graduated, Professor McGonagall had told her this was not the last time they would be seeing her around. Hermione could not help but wonder if this is what the headmistress had had in mind.

Definitely not, Hermione thought with a smile as she slid her foot into her most sensible pumps. The shoes were not the most fashionable but she imagined she would be on her feet a lot today. Even so, her feet would probably still be killing her by the end of it. That did not bode well for the day after tomorrow. But she did not even want to think about the wedding now because she might have a panic attack. There was too much to do for her to get bogged down by her anxiety.

But despite her best efforts to push all worries from her mind, Hermione arrived at her parents’ home with a small sense of dread slowly creeping over her. She was suddenly very self-conscious. Is what she picked out to wear actually stupid? Would her mother comment on it?

Soldiering on, Hermione knocked on their front door. Her parents were in their business casual best and her mother was carrying a bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, mum, you didn’t have to—”

But her mother did not hand over the flowers, but instead kept them close to her chest. “These aren’t for you. They’re for the nice woman who planned this whole thing.”

“You do realize that she is marrying my ex, don’t you?” Hermione did not know why she felt the need to bring it up. After all, Phaedra had planned the wedding with barely any help from Hermione, even if she was also being paid to do it. It was not exactly in her job description, she thought, with a twinge of guilt.

“That makes me like her even more, now that I know she took him off our hands!”

“Jean!” her father said, growing alarmed.

“What? It’s not like there’s any love lost there. Besides, aren’t you glad to be rid of the real, monster-in-law? You got off easy since you don’t have in-laws now.”

“That’s such an antiquated stereotype, mum. Not all women are at each other’s throats all the time. Or vying for the affection of the men in their life,” Hermione said. But what she felt was an even greater pang of guilt. She still had not asked Severus about his parents.

Hermione’s parents exchanged a look that said, “That’s our daughter for you.”

“Well, are we ready to go?” Hermione asked.

“Ooh, I always hate this part.”

 _Me too_ , Hermione thought, taking her parents’ hands.

“I don’t think I will ever get used to that,” her mother said, brushing herself off. Of what, Hermione did not know. It was not as if travel by apparition was particularly dusty.

“You would be surprised what one does become accustomed to,” a deep voice said beside them.

“There’s the handsome groom,” her mother said.

That’s right, Hermione thought, Of course he would be apparating with us to the castle.

Hermione stole a quick glance at Severus. He was making a face that probably stemmed from the fact that he had just been called handsome. Hermione was not sure why her mother had chosen to say that, especially given Severus’s feelings about his appearance.

Then Severus caught her eye. Suddenly feeling shy, Hermione looked away. But why? He had been to her apartment. She had kissed him and he had kissed her. Sure, he had not seen her _naked_ , but else was there to be shy about?

Hermione could see, out of the corner of her eye, her mother pulling Severus in for a hug and her father giving him a firm handshake, but still Hermione stood apart from them. How odd she must look standing there, off to the side, not looking at anyone.

“Hermione!” her mother called, to which Hermione came dutifully trotting over.

“Hello,” Severus said. “You look nice. And you have a new scarf.”

Hermione could feel her cheeks redden at even the tiniest compliment.

“Do you like it?” Hermione’s mother asked. “I hadn’t seen her wearing her other one—the one that was part of a matching set—so I needed to make a new one. Would you like one?” Hermione could hear the hopeful note in her mother’s voice. If there was one thing her mother loved, it was offering to knit for other people. Well, she almost loved it as much as she loved grumbling about having to knit so many gifts for other people when all she wanted was to work on her own projects.

“Only if it would not be too much time or money…” Severus said. Hermione could hear the hesitation in his voice.

“Listen to him, Harold! Too much time and money? You’re our future son-in-law! It’s no problem at all.”

Hermione did not know when Severus had become their “future son-in-law.” Before this time he had simply been her old professor or Severus or Mr. Snape.

It was then that Phaedra—rather mercifully—decided to appear beside them, laden with bags. Everyone rushed over to help her, including Hermione, but she waved them all away, saying they were all magicked to be nearly weightless.

“Well, we better get going,” Phaedra said, checking her watch. “The wards will only be down for five minutes.”

Severus offered his hand to Hermione’s mother which she practically swooned over. Hermione did not know what that was about. Surely he had only done it because Severus was worried about hurting her father’s manly pride if he offered his hand to him.

Wait, did her mother have a crush on her _fiancé?_ That would explain why she had run to hug him and called him handsome. Hermione might have cringed if her father was not now encircling her shoulders in his arms. For his part, he seemed unbothered by this… development.

But Hermione did not have time to look any longer because Phaedra and Severus were disappearing beside them and Hermione had to follow suit.

They all reappeared and the first thing Hermione noticed was that her feet were wet and cold. Of course, she thought, they were in Scotland now, which had much more severe winters. How could she forget magicking her standard-issue penny loafers to repel the snow and the cold whenever they would take walks in the snow to visit Hagrid.

She cast a warming charm but gave up on getting the snow off until they were inside, hoping no one else noticed her footwear blunder.

Phaedra let the charge through the front gates, followed by her parents and Hermione at the rear. She should have realized that Severus would fall in step beside her but she was nevertheless surprised when he did.

“Is now the time when I make the joke about cold feet or…?” Severus said quietly beside her.

“Ha. Ha,” Hermione said, pretending to not find it amusing when in reality it really was quite a good joke.

She knew she ought to continue their conversation but she was too busy looking around at the castle trying to discern what had changed and what had not. She had not been back to the castle since she saw it disappear after she and her fellow “eighth years” rode across the lake in the boats that had first ferried them to the school all those years ago.

“It looks the same,” Severus said, as if he could read Hermione’s thoughts. “I’ve come back many times before. Every time unexpected,” he added with a chuckle. “And it’s always the same. But it doesn’t feel the same does it?”

“No,” Hermione said. “Because we’ve changed and it hasn’t.”

They continued to walk in silence past the portraits and suits of armor to outside the Great Hall where Professor McGonagall was waiting for them, her hands on her hips.

Hermione did not know what she expected from the indomitable woman but, based on the quirk of her lips, she was fairly amused. Hermione thought that could mean she was happy to see all of them there, but something else told Hermione that McGonagall found the whole thing incredibly amusing.

Professor McGonagall greeted them all in turn, but Hermione noticed the way she lingered with Severus a moment longer than she had with anyone else. She did not know if that was a sign of their long friendship or something else entirely.

Then she led them into the Great Hall, remarking to Phaedra where decorations and other stuff could go as well as where it could not. Hermione could see Phaedra mentally going through a checklist and saw her looks of disappointment followed by calculations when her plans were apparently dashed.

Sitting at and around the teacher’s table on the raised dais at the back of the hall were who Hermione assumed were Severus’s groomsmen: Hagrid, Professor Flitwick, Professor Slughorn, Neville and of course, Harry.

Hermione still had not seen Harry since their fateful encounter that one day but he seemed to have forgiven her apparent transgressions since he gave a tiny smile and wave. Hermione was not feeling particularly forgiving though and just gave an almost imperceptible nod in return.

But who Hermione had not expected to see at the table was Percy leaning against the headmaster’s chair, looking smug as ever and staring directly at her. A shiver raced down her spine. This was not a good sign.

But it was then that Phaedra started unpacking everything from her many bags, which was Hermione’s cue to rush over to help. Anything to get away from Percy. If he was there to tell her something, then she was not prepared.

But Phaedra shooed away Hermione and told her she could sit down. She also told her she was not putting all of the decorations up now but saving some for later. Hermione, dejected, walked up onto the dais, the exact last place she wanted to be.

Percy, surprisingly, did not approach her and was now deep in conversation with Slughorn. They were probably talking about climbing the social ladder or some other such nonsense. But Neville was smiling at her, which Hermione took as an invitation to start a conversation with him.

“So, Professor Snape?” Neville said. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Hermione wanted to smack him on the shoulder. “And why’s that?” she said, looking around to make sure Severus was not in earshot. Mercifully he was talking to McGonagall again, their heads bowed.

“Well, to be honest, you’ve both always scared me.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips.

Neville laughed. “Just like that. I’m afraid you’re going to hex me right now.” Hermione frowned. “Though if it makes you feel any better, you scare me significantly less than Professor Snape.”

“Right, well, I suppose that is some sort of consolation,” she said, pulling out her wand to fiddle with it—a nervous habit of hers. “To only be the second most scary.”

It was then that Harry decided to come on over to her and Neville’s little tête-à-tête. “What are you two talking about?”

“Neville was telling me I am not _nearly_ as threatening as Sev—Professor Snape.”

Harry looked from her to Neville. “I don’t know. I might have to side with Hermione. Or are you forgetting the _Petrificus Totalus_ incident of first year?”

But their conversation was cut short when Phaedra joined them on the dais. “May I have everyone’s attention?” she said, pointing her wand at her windpipe to project her voice. “Everything is set-up so we can now begin the rehearsal process. Groomsmen on my right and bridesmaids on my left. Oh, wait,” Phaedra said with a laugh. “That’s just me.”

Hermione realized with a jolt that Ginny was not among them and she had not even noticed. Harry seemed to register her alarm because he said, “Yeah, sorry about that. Ginny had practice. She’ll be by later, though.”

Hermione nodded but she was a little sad that her friend could not be there with her.

“Alright,” Phaedra said, after the groomsmen had shuffled into place. She arranged them just so. “Professor McGonagall, please come up here. Severus, you stand on her right.”

The rest of the hall was quiet save for the sound of Phaedra positioning people just so and the shuffle of their feet.

“Now, Hermione, please go to the entrance of the Great Hall.” Hermione followed instructions. “Excellent, now stand just to the side, out of view.”

“Okay, now the orchestra plays,” Phaedra yelled so Hermione could hear. Hermione looked over to see the group of witches and wizards in their elegant garb holding their instruments near the entrance. When had they arrived? “Alright, Hermione you come in on the eighth measure, which is… now. Okay, start walking.”

Hermione did as she was told and began walking at what she hoped was an appropriate pace. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her but she kept her gaze unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. Eventually she reached the dais on the raised platform in front of which Phaedra was now standing. She could almost breathe a sigh of relief now that that was all over. Though she could admit it was not a good start for her if just the walking part of the ceremony made her incredibly nervous.

“That was great, Hermione. But a little fast. I’m going to have you go again. And, oh, I almost forgot. You should wear these.” Phaedra extended a pair of gold strappy heels.

Hermione took them awkwardly before looking around. She supposed she would just have to take them off here and now. She leaned against the owl lectern that she had seen Albus Dumbledore speak from so many times. And now she was using it to steady herself to put on heels. She hoped the esteemed headmaster was not rolling in his grave. Or maybe Professor Nitwit-Blubber-Oddment-Tweak would have found it amusing.

After the eternity it seemed to take for her to put on and fasten her shoes, Hermione wondered just how long this misery would last. Although, she thought darkly, maybe she would prefer to stay in this purgatory rather than move to the hell that the wedding surely would be.

When Hermione had finished, Phaedra had offered to take Hermione’s pumps, which was fairly kind of her because in her nervousness Hermione had begun to sweat and they were probably quite _pungent_ at this point.

“Take two steps on every measure,” Phaedra offered when Hermione had straightened. But she must have seen Hermione’s blank expression, because she added, “Take a step every other beat. I think that should make you go slow enough. We don’t want you up here until the fourth string joins in.”

Hermione knew she was just trying to be helpful but was she really supposed to be counting in her head? With everything else going on? Or maybe that advice was more helpful than she realized. Maybe counting the beats would make her forget that everyone would be staring at her and that there would be cameras everywhere.

Hermione had expected to totter back to the entrance of the Great Hall in her new shoes but Phaedra must have charmed them already because she made the journey with relative ease.

The band started up again and Hermione waited till she heard that telltale note and then she started walking, trying desperately to pace her steps appropriately. As she had anticipated, her desire to keep time kept her mind far away from everyone else in the room.

“Great job!” Phaedra said. “You started a little early but that’s fine because I’ll be back there with you tomorrow.” She punctuated her sentence with a little smile. Hermione could tell she was not entirely pleased with Hermione’s performance. “And could you try to smile, just a little? I know it’s only rehearsal…”

“Oh, no, I completely understand. They used to threaten to put petroleum jelly on our gums if we did not smile for our dance recitals.”

But Phaedra just looked at her, more than a little horrified. Hermione had hoped that since she was a half-blood that she might understand the reference but apparently she had not.

Once more Hermione walked back to the entrance of the Great Hall. She swore she could feel the burning stare of everyone as she did this song and dance for a third time. Merlin, was there anything worse than making people wait for you?

The music picked up again and with it came the corners of Hermione’s mouth. She had always considered herself intelligent but remembering to smile as well as walk in time with the music was apparently too much for her brain to handle. As she moved, she could not help but think this was her worst attempt yet.

And then she looked—really looked, not just staring unfocused—at the altar at the end of her journey and saw who was returning her smile. Hermione thought that her stomach would drop straight through the floor. And even though her shoes were enchanted to keep her upright, she faltered at that instant. But luckily she had remained upright and did not roll her ankle, continuing forward, one unsteady foot in front of the other.

Time stretched indefinitely, of course, until it didn’t and Hermione somehow found herself at the owl lectern. Her face was burning and she was positive everyone could see her red cheeks. She could not look at Severus.

Whether it was out of pity or impatience or maybe resignation that this whole thing was going to be a disaster—because Hermione knew it was not the truth—Phaedra clapped Hermione on the back and said, “That was perfect, Hermione. Now, let’s move on.”

Phaedra summoned two stacks of 3-by-5 notecards from her bag of tricks and gave them a quick glance before handing one to Hermione and then one to Severus.

“Next,” Phaedra said, to both the people on the dais and the rest of the room, “we’ll run through vows. But first, Professor McGonagall will welcome everyone.”

But Hermione could barely hear what her old headmistress was saying because she was too busy staring at the notecards and the bold declarations of love that were written on there. They were not her own words but could she really read this in front of her friends and family? In front of the press and by extension, the whole wizarding world? Could she even say them in front of Severus?

“Hermione,” she heard a voice— _his voice_ —whisper. Despite the unpleasant situation she seemed to have found herself in, its richness and depth still sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. Yet, she still could not look at him. “It’s your turn to speak.”

“Severus,” Hermione said. But when she heard how quietly and mangled it came out, she said it again but louder, “Severus.”

But Hermione could not finish because she was interrupted by Phaedra. “During the real thing you’ll be looking at each other and holding hands, but this is fine for the time being since you’re not off-book. Sorry, continue.”

Hermione nodded but continued to stare at the cards. “Severus, our fairy tale did not start in the traditional sense. I was that bothersome, know-it-all thorn in your side for seven, long years. And in return, you were the one person who refused to recognize my intelligence. Now that I am saying this out loud, maybe it cannot be considered a fairy tale at all.”

Hermione stopped reading because Phaedra had written in a note that said, “pause for laughter.” She did not know how long to wait, however, since no one was laughing. Maybe it was Phaedra’s writing or more likely, Hermione’s delivery.

“But then,” she continued after taking a breath, “when the time came, you showed us the courage and bravery you’ve always possessed and sacrificed yourself not only for me or my friends, but all of us. At that moment, I did not love you yet, but our love was a slow burn and that was the spark.”

Merlin, Hermione thought. Could this be more maudlin?

“I never imagined that I would be standing up here with you but now that I am, I could not imagine it any other way. I am so happy and proud to call you my husband. Here’s to seven more years of being a pain in your ass—seven, at the very least.”

Hermione looked at Phaedra when she had finished. The only person she could bear to look at. Phaedra gave her two thumbs up and a wide grin. Hermione had never seen her look like that before, which could only mean Hermione had done horribly.

She was waiting for Phaedra to tell her to correct her diction or pace or something but instead she heard the baritone of Severus.

“Hermione,” he began as she had, except considerably less nervous and projecting his voice. “I used to be the sort of person who believed he was not deserving of love. I thought my past and subsequent decisions were evidence of this and I was…” Severus’s voice quavered at this part. “Ready to die without ever having known love.”

“But then when you so rudely foiled my plans, not only by saving my life, but also by becoming my friend, I was forced to reconsider my ideas. Since our friendship began, you have shown me that people can grow and change. Since our relationship began in earnest, you have shown me that I can be defined by love rather than hate. Hermione, I have not always been deserving of your love but I hope to someday earn it.”

Severus had finished speaking and the whole room was silent. But not the awkward silence that had followed Hermione’s speech, but rather stunned silence. Hermione was pretty sure that it was now Professor McGonagall’s turn to say something about the “I Do’s” but even she was too shocked to say her piece.

“Alright,” Phaedra said, to the rest of the room. “I think it’s time to stop for lunch.”

As soon as Hermione heard those words, she nearly ran from the dais, but not to one of the long tables where food now appeared. She felt like she was having another panic attack and the last thing she needed was to freak out with everyone else—namely Percy—watching her.

Hermione walked briskly to the nearest bathroom. She prayed no one would follow her. Hermione kept telling herself that it was no big deal; she just needed a quiet, secluded place to calm herself. Then she could go back to the rehearsal like nothing was amiss.

But as she walked, Severus’s vows continued to echo through her head. “I have not always been deserving of your love.”

He didn’t deserve her? No, she didn’t deserve _him._


	29. Chapter 29

Severus had not provided any input to Miss Chapman about what should be included in his vows, so it was eerie to realize just how much of that he would have said on his own if she had asked him to. It was even more unnerving to read those words aloud to a room of people. As someone so used to being private, he did not like revealing that side of himself. Being vulnerable in front of Hermione was one thing, but being vulnerable in a room full of strangers was another thing entirely.

Yet, despite his own discomfort throughout the entire process, Hermione had looked even worse. He hoped she was not coming down with something, but he had a feeling it was not an illness that was troubling her.

There had been a flurry of motion when Phaedra had called for lunch and unfortunately Severus had lost sight of Hermione. Food was appearing on the tables and everyone was finding a place to sit. He scanned the room, expecting to see her among the throng, but her bushy head was nowhere to be found.

So Hermione had left the Great Hall. But why? Part of his brain told him she had excused herself to “freshen up,” but the other part remembered how she had looked on that dais and told him that maybe there was more going on.

Then should he look for her? The castle was big. Would he even find her in time? And what if he was wrong? What if she had just stepped out? Then what would happen? Would he look like a fool? That wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Severus felt someone touch his arm. He wheeled around to see Mr. and Mrs. Granger. “Sit with us, Severus!”

“Uh, right, I will,” he said. “Have either of you seen Hermione?”

Severus watched as the two of them scanned the room. “No, not since your vows,” Mrs. Granger said.

“Did she say anything to you?” he asked.

“No, but I’m sure she’ll be right back. Come on, we saved you a seat,” Mrs Granger said, patting the spot of empty bench beside her.

“Uh, I’ll join you shortly. Just give me one sec.”

In the end, Severus had decided he would go and look for her. It was only a hunch but he had the distinct feeling that something was awry. The worst that could happen was that he embarrassed himeslf, but embarrassment was a small price to pay to make sure Hermione was alright.

Severus walked along the halls trying not to think if he was Hermione, where he would have gone. The school was mostly closed down for the holiday, so, in theory, there weren’t that many places she would have gotten to.

And then, in the East Wing, he heard something. It sounded almost like sniffling. He might have missed it if he were not used to muffling his footsteps as he walked. Severus backtracked, trying to pinpoint exactly where the noise was coming from. He stopped in front of a door.

Now that he was closer Severus could tell someone was crying. His heart ached at the sound. Severus took another look at the door. He was outside of the girls’ lavatory.

Merlin. Could he go in there? It was not like there would be anyone else in there with Hermione—well, provided it _was_ Hermione. But it felt so wrong. He did not know if he had even set foot in a girls’ lavatory before.

Although, now that he thought about it, he had in fact been in their lavatory. The first time—and last time—had been during Potter’s first year, when Quirrell had let that mountain troll into the castle. The mountain troll had made its way from the dungeon into a girls’ lavatory, where Potter and company had found it, and where Severus and the other teachers had found him.

Come to think of it, Hermione had also been involved in that situation. At the time, Hermione had claimed that she was trying to take on the troll on her own, but even in the moment that had rung false to Severus. Now that he knew Hermione even better, he doubted much of what she had said was true. Severus wondered what the real story was; he would have to make a mental note to ask her in the future.

Severus lifted his arm. Ought he knock before he went in? It was not like anyone else was in there. But it seemed like the right thing to do. So, he knocked.

Nothing.

He knocked again, a bit more forcefully. This time his knock was followed by the sound of a flush, then the sound of running water, and then footsteps. Hermione opened the door, smiling, but he could definitely tell she had been crying. His heart broke a little bit once more.

“You know that’s not how public lavatories work, right?” Hermione said.

Severus laughed despite himself. But he could tell Hermione was just trying to distract from the fact that she was crying on the toilet.

“I was looking for you,” he said, by way of an explanation. “You left without saying anything.” And I was worried about you, he wanted to add.

Hermione shrugged. “I just had to, uh, wash up and stretch my legs a little. I’m ready to come back now.” She moved to walk past him, but to his surprise—and to Hermione’s, based on the look on her face—he held up his hand to stop her.

“Are you sure? You don’t—you didn’t—” Severus had no idea how to say that she did not look well without possibly insulting her appearance. “Are you okay, Hermione? You know, you can tell me.”

“Of course, I’m fine.” A lie. Severus did not have to be a former spy to know that she was lying. Hermione was just one of those people who was exceptionally bad at lying.

“Alright,” he said. He was not going to press her. If she did not want to talk about it, then he could not force her. Even if it broke his heart to think about. “But if you still want to run from all this, just tell me and we can run together.”

Hermione seemed to brighten at that. “It’s certainly tempting, but no… We can’t; we made a promise. We have to go back.”

They returned to the Great Hall in silence. He had hoped they would be over the awkward silences but apparently they were not. Severus wished he could reach out, hold her hand, so she would know everything was alright, but part of him was still hurting from her rejection. They might not technically be in a relationship, but it nevertheless hurt that she did not want to share something that was clearly bothering her.

“Hang on,” he said, when they reached the entrance to the Great Hall. “We should probably go in separately.”

“Why’s that?” Hermione asked.

“I may have told your parents I was looking for you and I would hate to tell them that I found you on the toilet.”

Hermione nodded. “Good idea. Should I go first then?”

“Yes, go ahead. I’ll come in after a bit from the opposite direction.” She started to walk away. “Hermione?” he asked. She turned to look at him. The way she looked at him… she was so beautiful—he knew it was cliché, but it was also true—it was like a visceral pain. But the pain was made worse by the fact that he couldn’t comfort her.

“Are you really okay?” he asked again. “It’s alright if you’re not.”

“Besides having to get married tomorrow in front of the whole world? Yeah, otherwise I’m fine.”

“It’ll be over before you know it.”

“I know. That’s what I’m worried about.” But before he could ask Hermione to elaborate, she walked away.

 _That’s what I’m worried about?_ What did that mean? He did not think Hermione was particularly excited about the ceremony so it was not as if she would be worried about blinking and missing it.

Severus’s stomach growled. Oh right. Lunch. He was almost surprised that he was hungry even considering how nervous he was. He walked into the Great Hall quickly, looking up at his shoes, but when he finally looked up, he pretended to be surprised upon seeing Hermione.

“Oh, you found her!” he said.

“Yes. We told you that you didn’t have to worry. She was in the loo.”

“Ah, well, I would have never found her in there. So it’s a good thing she didn’t fall in.” Severus cringed. Could he be anymore awkward?

“Don’t worry. Myrtle would have helped fish me out,” Hermione deadpanned.

Severus began serving himself meat and potatoes when Phaedra slid onto the bench opposite him. “Great job on the vows, you two! If you could just have those memorized by tomorrow that would be great! I know it’s a little last minute but I put off all the writing off to the very end and I also had to write Professor McGonagall’s part and the speeches for the reception as well. Speaking of which, how do you like your speech, Mr. Granger? You can tweak it if you want.”

“No, I think you’ve covered all of the bases,” Mr. Granger said, not looking up from his plate.

“Great!” Phaedra said, giving an over-the-top thumbs up. Severus looked at the woman across from him. She looked even more harried than Hermione did. Maybe he should be less worried about Hermione since it seemed like more was at stake for Miss Chapman. Except Phaedra did not have the distinct misfortune of marrying him.

“Oh, and immediately after the speeches is the first dance, so don’t eat too big of a lunch,” Phaedra added before she left.

Severus heard a clattering beside him. Hermione had apparently dropped her silverware.

“Oh, Hermione, you don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself. Your father is just as bad of a dancer as you are and he managed just fine on our wedding day. Severus, you should have seen her dance recitals. No grace! And she would just watch the girl next to her.”

“I think you will be quite impressed with Hermione,” Severus interjected. “We’ve been practicing.”

Hermione’s mother laughed. “I made Harold get lessons before our wedding as well and he still stepped on my feet. I am afraid Hermione might have inherited that trait from him.”

Severus did not know how to respond to being shut down in such a manner. In some ways he got a better appreciation for Hermione’s know-it-all-ness. It must have been terribly difficult growing up for her to be constantly dismissed like this.

Severus desperately wished he could comfort Hermione for the second time that day, only this time he did not want to do or say anything in front of her parents, especially if it made the situation worse. So, he just had to sit there and act like nothing was wrong. It was a terrible feeling.

He did not have much time to speak to Hermione, since Miss Weasley appeared at their table sometime in the middle of lunch, monopolizing Hermione’s attention. Severus did not mind this part terribly—it was good that Hermione had the opportunity to spend time with her friend—but it left Snape at the mercy of Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who asked him questions like: Did he have money saved for retirement? Did his family have a history of colon cancer? And did he vote in the last Muggle election?

When lunch had concluded, the tables were cleared of dishes and then the tables themselves were removed, since the wedding guests would not be using them anyway. If Severus had to guess, he thought they would bring in chairs like they had done for the Yule Ball. For now, however, everyone was sitting on the remaining benches, which were now pushed against the wall.

Severus wondered when they would be doing that. Even if he was the groom, he still wanted to help, especially since all he really had to do was show up. In fact, all he had really done up to this point was show up. That was all that was expected of him: show up, stand there, speak a few words, dance, eat, and leave. And the only thing that really required any skill on his part was dancing.

But before he and Hermione could endure the mortification of dancing, they first had to endure other people’s mortification through the reading of their speeches.

Hermione’s father went first. His voice quavered a bit but one could attribute that to being overcome with emotion rather than nerves.

Potter went next and he did surprisingly well. Though, perhaps that came from his job and the practice that came with frequently giving speeches to the press about their latest arrests at the Auror Office. Severus was also pleased there was no mention of Lily in his speech. He would have to thank Miss Chapman for that one.

Miss Weasley’s speech was a lot funnier than all the ones that came beforehand which Severus assumed meant that she had a hand in writing it. If the previous speeches were any indication, Phaedra’s style veered toward sentimentality rather than using humor.

McGonagall’s speech followed. She compared both Severus and Hermione as students and how they were both eager to please and always ready to learn. Severus thought it was a bit of a stretch since he did not think he was quite as eager as Hermione had been, but maybe he was wrong and needed to re-examine his time at Hogwarts. Nevertheless, it was a nice idea.

Then to Severus’s immense surprise, the minister appeared—at least Severus had not seen him around beforehand—to give a speech about how much of what they were doing was for the good of all Wizard-kind. Severus thought it was a tad unsubtle—to put it charitably—but as usual, the government was unaware of how tone-deaf they sounded.

“Okay, can I get the bride and the groom in the middle of the room?” Phaedra said, when the minister had finished and promptly disapparated, which was apparently a privilege he possessed.

Severus followed her orders but was still surprised when Hermione seemed to materialize beside him. She still had that faraway look in her eyes, like she was anywhere but here.

“Do you think the band is taking requests?” Severus asked her, trying to ease the tension.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Drop It Like It’s Hot,” Severus responded, barely above a whisper.

Hermione snorted and she finally looked at him. Severus was pleased to see a smile wrinkling her eyes. “How do you know that song?”

“I’m offended. I know I’m old, but I’m not _that_ old.”

But their conversation was soon interrupted by Phaedra. “Okay, Mr. Snape, you will lead Hermione to the center of the dance floor.” Severus laced Hermione’s hand with his own and walked forward. Her hands were freezing and drier than he remembered them being. “Perfect. And then the band will start—” Phaedra signaled the band. “And you will start dancing.”

“Damn,” Severus said, gingerly touching Hermione’s waist. Their hands were already entwined. “A waltz. We were not prepared for this one.” He hoped that continuing his plan of joking would make her feel more at ease. He began moving her across the room in earnest. He could tell how tentative her steps were; she was nervous. He just wanted to put her at ease.

“Had you heard this story before? That your father stepped on your mother’s foot?” he asked. Despite the fact that all eyes were trained on Hermione and Severus, they were far enough away and the music was just loud enough for them not to be overheard.

Apparently this was the right question to ask because it prompted a long response from Hermione. Or maybe like him, she was disappointed she could not talk much until this point. It was funny how a moment, when everyone was watching them, became the perfect time to talk.

“Yes, I had heard this story before. Many times actually. You know how parents are. They tell the same story over and over. I guess so eventually their kids can just repeat it back to them.

“You know, I can’t help but wonder what stories I would tell my kids. Probably all the ways I broke the rules at school. Of course, I would tell them to not follow in my footsteps. You know how it is, do as I say, not as I do kind of thing.

“I mean, I was still relatively well-behaved. I got great marks and I have a great job. I saved the world—not just the magical world either!—for Merlin’s sake. All things considered, my parents should be a lot happier with me.”

“And they’re not?” Severus asked. It was a question that he unfortunately already knew the answer to.

“No, they’re not. It’s frustrating because everything before… this, they should be proud of. But nothing is good enough. I guess they think they’re doing me a favor by teaching me to keep striving, but all they did was make me perpetually unsatisfied. You know, just once, I would like to be satisfied with something I’ve done.”

“Well, I’m proud of you, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Thanks”, Hermione said flatly, as if she had not truly believed what he had said.

“No, I’m serious. Deadly serious. And I am proud of you for this too.”

“You’re proud of me for roping you into a sham marriage?” Hermione’s incredulity was evident.

“I’m proud of you for sticking through till the end.”

A strange look crossed over Hermione’s face. Severus had known that was the wrong thing to say from the beginning. He had not known why he said it in the first place. Especially since Hermione had finally begun speaking to him again. Still, he had a bad feeling.

But he could not elaborate further because the music had stopped and Phaedra was telling them to stop and ushering them off the dance floor.

“Wonderful job, guys.” This time Severus could tell Miss Chapman had meant it. Severus wanted to nudge Hermione as a kind of gesture to show her how far she had come in her dancing. But he was also not entirely sure she was not mad at him.

Severus could sit down since it was time for the father-daughter dance. He watched them, amused at her father’s fumbling, but also a little proud that what he had taught Hermione was at least making the spectacle a little better.

“I told you he was absolutely dreadful,” Hermione’s mother said, sidling up to sit beside Severus.

“Hermione is making the best of it though,” Severus responded. He was not really in the mood to be friendly to her mother, however, when she had just been so unkind to Hermione.

“I hope you’ll save me a dance tomorrow,” Mrs. Granger added.

Severus blanched. He did not want to refuse her, but he had also been getting weird vibes from the woman the whole day. Merlin, he hoped her mother did not have a crush on him. That would not be good for anyone involved.

“Excellent effort,” Phaedra said. “Now we just need to practice walking from the Great Hall and we will be all done.”

Severus got up. “That’s me,” he said to Mrs. Granger, pleased for a reason to leave.

Hermione did not look any better than she had before, which was more than a little disheartening to Severus. He had hoped that the silliness of dancing with her father would brighten her mood.

“Your mum has already added her name to my dance card,” he said, when he reached her. Hermione’s eyes went impossibly wide at the suggestion.

“Oh no,” Hermione said. “I was worried something like this would happen.”

“After all the dancing and drinking,” Phaedra interrupted, “you guys will thank everyone for coming from the dais.”

They walked up there together. “I think she fancies me,” Severus whispered. Hermione groaned.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming and celebrating with us today,” Severus said, much louder.

“What?” Severus said, quietly again. “You don’t think that it’s a good thing? At least my mother-in-law likes me. I don’t think so many men are so lucky.” Hermione snorted at that.

“Great!” Phaedra said. “Then you will escort Hermione from the Great Hall and everyone will clap uproariously.”

Severus offered Hermione his elbow. “What happens when they don’t clap?”

“Azkaban, I think,” Hermione responded.

They walked the rest of the way in silence but it did not matter because that response told Severus that Hermione was feeling better, at least for now. Although he was still feeling guilty for his dumb comment earlier; he hoped she was not still hurting from it. And he hoped they did not have to do this walk multiple times like Phaedra had made Hermione do for her entrance. Though, maybe Phaedra realized that this was not going to be perfect and this was as good as it gets.

“Alright, that’s it, guys!” Severus was surprised. He thought for sure their suffering would have to continue ad infinitum, like this was some sort of wedding rehearsal purgatory. “We’re done for the day.”

There was the sound of people milling about and talking. He was sure everyone else was just as excited to leave as he was. Severus and Hermione walked back inside.

“Oh, but, before you all go. Everyone in the wedding party should be here tomorrow at nine in the morning for clothes and makeup!” That earned Phaedra a collective groan. She turned to Hermione, the most apologetic look on her face. “You should try to get here at six AM.”

The wedding was not supposed to start until one o’clock in the afternoon. “Should I also arrive at six?” He did not want to but he would if he had to.

“Oh, no, you can be here at nine with everyone else.”

“Should I come for moral support, at least?” he asked. He did not like leaving Hermione alone with these wolves, especially if she was still not feeling well.

“That’s nice of you, but it’s bad luck to see the bride in her wedding dress!”

Severus looked at Hermione. He wondered if she cared about stupid tradition. But she was looking at her feet once more.

“Alright. Nine AM it is.”

“One more thing,” a nasally voice said. Severus looked up to see Percy, looking smug as ever. “I would like to take the groom, bride, and her parents out to dinner. My treat to show my thanks. Oh, and Phaedra you can come to.”

“How generous of you,” Phaedra said. “But I was going to go out to dinner with—”

“Nonsense. He can come with us! We’re all family here. Let’s invite Ginny and Harry too.”

Severus looked at Hermione. She was white as a sheet. He needed to act quickly to stop this trainwreck. “Hermione and I appreciate the offer, but she has to be up early in the morning.”

“Hermione will have plenty of time to get her _beauty_ sleep. It’s not that late and I promise it won’t take long,” Percy retorted.

“Hermione, dear, don’t be rude. He is offering to pay,” Mrs. Granger added, rather unhelpfully.

Severus wanted to ask if they knew who this man was who was offering to pay. Then Severus wondered if Hermione had actually told them who was the source of her misery at work. He realized then she had only talked about work in the most abstract of terms so maybe they didn’t actually know.

Severus was about to open his mouth to form a new excuse when Hermione said, “Alright, we’ll be there.”

Severus could not believe it; this was only a disaster waiting to happen. But maybe Hermione knew something that he did not. Or maybe she was not trying to anger Percy, since he had the power to make a difficult situation even more difficult.

“Excellent!” Percy said. “Hermione, do you have a favorite restaurant?”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the kind of late update! I hope to get more chapters out this weekend though since they're already written. Thank you all for the kudos, comments, and continued readership. It means a lot to me! We are nearing the end (how near though? no one knows) and thank you for accompanying me on this ~wild~ ride.

Hermione knew Percy was only trying to appear nice, just like she had known that Severus was just trying to look out for her best interest. And there was no way this was anything but a ridiculous ploy to humiliate her. She would have hoped that if she just followed everything he asked for, Percy would spare her. But Hermione should have remembered this was Percy she was dealing with—the tyrant—and nothing was below him, especially if it provided an opportunity to inflate his ego.

Well, if Percy was going to play games, then she at least was going to tell him the most expensive place she knew of. Yes, that would only be fair. He had offered to pay, hadn’t he?

On second thought—Hermione looked down at her nice, but not _too_ _nice_ clothes—maybe her own diabolical plans would have to wait. She was not exactly dressed for a super fancy dinner. She also realized she was still wearing her wedding shoes. In a manner she hoped would be discreet, she began unbuckling them.

Like a premonition, Phaedra appeared beside her, handing Hermione her actual shoes and helped Hermione step out of the heels. The exchange was seamless. Damn. Maybe Hermione was going to miss having Phaedra around to help her with everything.

Then, Hermione felt her slip something else into her hand. Based on the texture she could tell it was the notecards containing her vows. She slipped them into her coat pocket without another glance. She definitely did not want to think about those just then.

“Uh, right, I think the King and the Camel is good. Plenty of seating and not too expensive.” Hermione was disappointed by that last bit but it did make her look good if people did not think she was purposefully trying to gouge Percy.

“King and the Camel, it is. And Hermione,” Percy looked at her, a smiling curling his lips, “don’t worry about my wallet. This is a big accomplishment we are celebrating and it is my treat!”

Of course he would spin Hermione’s comment in his favor. Typical politician.

“Wow! Thanks so much!” she said, barely trying to conceal her sarcasm. “Will Penelope be joining us as well?” He should not forget that she had been playing this game just as long. Though she might not understand what happened between Percy and his wife, there were still some things that she could use against him.

Percy’s smile transformed instantly into a frown. “Penelope is unfortunately otherwise occupied tonight. Otherwise I would definitely extend an invitation.” Hermione could hear how much he was clenching his jaw towards the end.

“I love going there,” Phaedra interjected. Probably trying to stop them before it got ugly. “We—” Hermione did not even have to hear the rest of what she was going to say. She and Ron had gone there together a lot when they had still been a thing. It made sense, she thought, that Ron would take Phaedra there now.

Hermione could almost see the gears turning in Phaedra’s head as she tried to backpedal. Surprisingly, however, it did not bother Hermione in the slightest to know this. Perhaps it would have a couple of months ago, but now she did not have a strong opinion on the matter. It was sort of freeing. Euphoric, even. Which was a strange emotion to keep beside her apprehension for the wedding and fervent mistrust of Percy.

“I would have asked him to take us to McDonald’s but that’s just me,” Severus said, barely above a whisper. Hermione had sort of forgotten he was there until this moment.

“Ooh, I could go for a McFlurry right now,” Hermione said, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Maybe...” Severus said. “Just the two of us can go? After this, of course.” He made a face at Hermione then, showing just how enthusiastic he was about this outing. Hermione tried to stifle a laugh.

She loved that he was still trying so hard to buoy her spirits and she could admit it was working. And his presence was already making her feel better about going to this dinner that was sure to be a disaster. Hermione had a feeling that Percy would be less likely to try something if Severus were around.

They walked outside to the apparition point. It was not yet late but it was already dark. Once more Severus took Hermione’s mother’s arm and Hermione took her father’s. Severus made a face at Hermione when neither of her parents were looking which earned another suppressed laugh from Hermione.

Severus, however, unlike the rest of the Weasley clan, had never been to the restaurant so it was up to Hermione to explain whereabouts it was located. Hermione was not excellent at giving directions, but to his credit, Severus seemed to know exactly where she was talking about.

“That’s alright,” Hermione’s mother said. “If we get lost, Severus and I can have dinner by ourselves.”

Severus, at least, made a brave face, even if he was probably mortified at heart. Hermione did not know what had sparked the change in her mother to act in such a manner. Perhaps she thought Hermione would not mind because it was all fake anyway. Or perhaps she was doing some crazy reverse psychology and trying to get Hermione to fall in love with him. Whatever she was trying, it wasn’t working. Because Hermione loved Severus and Severus loved her.

 _Wait a minute_ , Hermione thought. What had she just admitted to herself? If she was not feeling good before, she was certainly not feeling good now. This was the least ideal time for it too—to not only come to this realization but to also have another nervous breakdown.

Hermione gripped her father’s arm even closer to herself. She had changed her mind. She wanted this over sooner rather than later. Hermione did not want to have her mind crowded by so many… thoughts. But eventually they were all wrangled and ready to go. Ron was nowhere to be seen, of course, but Hermione figured that meant he would probably be meeting them at the restaurant.

They landed, one at a time—or pair by pair—to avoid detection, in an alley by the restaurant. Hermione could have sworn if anyone was a connoisseur of London’s wide array of alleys, it was members of the magical community; no one used them as frequently.

Percy walked confidently to the hostess. “Hello. Party of nine. Under the name ‘Weasley,’” he said, his voice positively dripping with oil.

What? Had he put in a reservation ahead of time? That was impressive. Of course Percy would be the type of wizard to carry a mobile phone when most magical folk got along just fine without them.

“Right this way, Mr. Wesley,” the hostess said, grabbing a stack of menus.

 _Ha_ , Hermione thought. Even though it was not normally done, she would have to slip this woman a fiver for deflating Percy’s ego so ruthlessly and so effectively.

Percy pulled a chair and offered it to Hermione. Severus tried to take the one next to her, but Percy tsked loudly and said, “You’re not married yet, lovebirds. You will have plenty of time to spend time together after the wedding, especially when you move in together.”

Severus was very obviously confused but he took the chair on the other side of Percy. Percy sat his butt between them, a Percy-sized barrier separating her from Severus. They might as well have been separated by an ocean for all the talking they would be able to do that night.

“Where’s Ron?” Percy asked. “I trust my little brother won't be his usual late self?”

“No, he’s coming; he’ll be here soon,” Phaedra said.

“That’s good. I hope you’re curing his tardiness,” Percy said. “He needs someone to curb his worst tendencies.” Percy looked directly at Hermione when he said that, as if he were implying that Hermione was not the sort of person who could—or _would_ —have done that. And even though Ron had not exactly been the fairest partners, Hermione felt the urge to defend him in that moment and all of “his worst tendencies.”

But Phaedra, evidently used to this sibling rivalry, just laughed. That was probably for the best. Hermione had been dragged into Weasley-family drama many times and it was best to avoid it rather than getting sucked in.

Hermione looked to Harry and Ginny who were also noticeably not engaging. Ginny might have agreed that Ron had some less-than-desirable traits, but Hermione would’ve thought that Harry—Ron’s best friend—would have come to his defense. But maybe Harry had also been pulled into the Percy-Weasley-drama-cyclone.

“Speak of the devil!” Percy said. Hermione wanted to retort that the only devil in the room was him.

She turned around in her seat to fiddle with her bag but mainly to sneak a peek at Ron. She was surprised to see how sheepish he looked, like he was embarrassed on behalf of himself for being here. He pulled up a chair beside Phaedra and they began talking quietly amongst themselves.

“Miss!” Percy practically yelled to a passing waitress.

 _Merlin_ , Hermione thought. Did this man know how to be anything but obnoxious? It’s as if he relished in the opportunity to demean anyone within earshot. Hermione could not believe there was a chance that Percy might be the next Minister for Magic.

“Yes, how may I help you?” the waitress asked. She was smiling but her smile was hollow, like this was just another injustice she had to suffer during her shift.

“Our party is all here and we are ready to order drinks.”

“Alright,” she said, pulling out her pad of paper from a pocket of her apron.

“We’ll have…” But Hermione did not hear the rest of what was said because she was too busy tuning him out. She would be fine with water for the rest of her night. She needed her “beauty sleep” as Percy had so delicately put it and she had found even the tiniest amount of alcohol affected the quality of her sleep.

“I think the table is ready to order their entrées as well,” Percy said, which was patently false. They had just arrived for Merlin’s sake! “Hey, Ron, you come here a lot. What do you recommend?”

“Uh…” Ron began. He had been in the middle of a whispered conversation with Phaedra.

“Oh, how could I forget? Hermione, you were a regular as well. What would _you_ recommend? Or has the menu changed since you last came?”

Hermione pretended to flip through the menu. “For you, Percy? I would say the _chicken_.”

Percy narrowed his eyes at her. She did not care if he got back at her later. She had suffered enough indignities today and someone needed to knock him down a peg or do. Maybe Harry, Ron, Ginny, or Phaedra couldn’t, but she could.

Another waitress, however, interrupted the fomenting tension when she began pouring wine into everyone’s glass. She had probably heard Percy shout the order across the restaurant and was coming to help her coworker. When she reached Hermione, Hermione put her hand over her own glass, saying, “Water is fine for me, thanks.” The waitress nodded and moved to Percy.

Hermione looked to Severus to see how he was doing, when she noticed that Percy was looking at her with a malicious glint in her eye.

“Why aren’t you having anything?” he asked Hermione. “Are you in the motherly way, already?” Percy said much too loudly.

Hermione was about to reach for her steak knife and bury it in Percy’s carotid, when Severus spoke up. “I am sober,” he said, softly. “And Hermione doesn’t drink in solidarity with me.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Hermione had to admit it was a brilliant move on his part—answer an awkward question with an even more uncomfortable answer. Hermione could have kissed him right then, on both cheeks too. In front of her parents and Harry and Ron. It did not matter. This is what it felt like to have someone on her side.

Percy raised an eyebrow. “I see.” And took a big swig of his wine.

The first waitress, surprisingly, was still around and waiting to take their orders despite the drama unfolding before her. Or maybe it was because of it—this fight might have been the most exciting thing she saw all day. Hermione was not particularly hungry so she ordered a salad. Severus also ordered a salad. Hermione smiled. Probably to help mitigate embarrassing questions about Hermione still having to fit in her wedding dress.

When everyone had finished ordering, Percy stood up, wine glass in hand—even though he had already drunk from it. Everyone else in the surrounding tables looked over. The man certainly loved to be the center of attention.

“To our happy couple! Who were willing to sacrifice everything, including their happiness, to save us all.” Percy could presumably not mention who “us” was since even more people had begun staring even after he had begun his speech. “May they grow to love each other enough to make lots of bookworm babies.”

The table was silent. The room was silent. Hell, all of London was probably silent.

Hermione broke that silence when she scooted her chair away from the table.

“I have to step outside for a smoke. Would you care to join me, Percy?”

“I don’t smoke,” Percy said, nonchalantly. “But go ahead.”

“Ah, but the lady insists,” Severus said.

Maybe it was his natural inclination to listen to people who used to hold an authority over him or maybe Severus was digging his wand into an extremity, but Percy stood up and followed Hermione outside.

“Hey, can we call it a truce?” Hermione asked. “Until this wedding thing is over. Then you can go back to being as terrible as you want.”

“But, Hermione,” Percy said, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “I’m not being terrible; I’m being _kind_.”

“You must think I am incredibly thick to believe that. You have only ever been exceedingly monstrous to me.”

“That maybe be so, but no, in this case, I am giving you a warning of what is to come.”

“And what, praytell, is that?”

“You’re not going to be able to keep the vultures away for long. You’re going to feel the pressure to have a litter of your own eventually.”

What was with his animal metaphors when it came to describing her potential children?

“You’ve already told me this. Tell me something new.”

“You’re _never_ going to be minister.” Hermione could hear the way Percy’s tongue luxuriated over the word “never.” It was positively revolting. She suppressed a gag.

“Why, because _you are_?” Hermione said, looking him up and down.

“No, and I’m just reporting what I’ve heard; this wasn’t my decision. They don’t want a young woman like yourself in a position of power. They think it sends the wrong message since they think young women should focus on raising their families.”

“I don’t trust you,” Hermione said simply. “And I don’t think that’s much of a secret.”

“And I would not _expect_ you to trust me. But, Hermione, do you realize just how much I’ve saved your ass, how many crises I’ve avoided? You would have been fired already, if not for you. I had to bribe a journalist with an exclusive interview with our boss and put my job on the line so that you would not blow this for us.”

“So? What are you saying?” Hermione crossed her arms across her chest. “Do they want to fire me or use me as their baby-making mascot? Your story is not adding up.”

“I’m saying, Hermione, what I was saying earlier. You have two choices: have kids or get fired. But you will never be minister. So, get used to the idea of it now. And don’t tell me you’re giving up. Or else what was the point of all this planning and work and taxpayer money? What was the point of _putting up with me_?”

Hermione wanted to yell and tackle Percy to the ground and punch him straight in his smug little face. Then she heard footsteps behind her. She spun around expecting to see Severus there but instead it was… Ron?

“Is everything alright?” Ron asked, his hands in his pockets. “Is he bugging you, Hermione?”

“No,” Percy said.

“Yes,” Hermione said.

“We’re done here anyway,” Percy said. But before Percy left he got uncomfortably close to Hermione and whispered in her ear, “You would do well to remember what I said, _Hermione_.” The way he said her name gave her the most uncomfortable shiver down her spine. Like someone dumped cold water down her back.

“What did he want?” Ron asked when Percy was out of earshot.

“He wanted to tell me that they’ll never make me minister and I should just give up and have babies like what’s expected of me,” Hermione said with a sigh.

“And you believe him?”

Despite the dire situation, Hermione could not help but be amused by this question. It seemed like Ron also did not trust Percy either.

“Do I believe him? Honestly? I don’t know what to believe. I know he has a vested interest in me not becoming minister but I also don’t know about them not promoting me for the sake of image. It makes sense that the same government that would force me into a marriage would also keep me back because of my perceived importance in raising a family.”

Damn, it made a little _too much_ sense. Why had she not thought of this sooner? It probably would have saved her a lot of heartbreak. It also would have saved her from having to marry Severus.

Except, had she not just realized that she loved him?

“Listen, Hermione, I’m sorry. And Phaedra wanted to tell you this herself, but she’s also sorry for what part she played in this. But if I have to defend her, I think, like you, she got caught up in the possibility of getting promoted. If Phaedra or I could be of any help, we’d love to do it.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, mostly of habit, before realizing maybe he was not just offering out of a sense of politeness. Did Ron ever do anything for the sake of being polite? “What kind of help?” she asked.

Ron shrugged. He kicked a stray rock with his foot. “Whatever you need… Within reason, of course.”

“Within reason, eh? Sounds promising.” Hermione had not meant to sound as dismissive as she had come across.

“Well, mum can’t know.”

Of course, Hermione thought. Mrs. Weasley could not bear to have the Weasleys apart anymore—especially since she had lost Fred—so she would definitely lash out at Ron if she thought he was pushing Percy away.

“Thanks, Ron. Means a lot to me.” And she was not lying.

“Maybe I learned a little too late that I should defend what I love for my family and for that, I am truly sorry.”

“No.” Hermione sighed. “I think you learned just in time.” For Phaedra’s sake, at least.

The rest of dinner continued without issue, except for Hermione staring daggers at the side of Percy’s head whenever he wasn’t looking. Of course, this also meant that she caught every concerned glance from Severus. She wanted to explain what had happened between her and Percy, to placate not only herself but also Severus, but then she realized there was probably nothing that would make her feel better about this. It was not looking good for her.

And after dinner Hermione, when she thought she would be able to take Severus up on his offer to go off by themselves and finally talk about what had transpired. But, of course, her plans were sidelined when she was accosted by Ginny.

“Hermione, you have to come over to our house for a sleepover! This is the last time I will see you as an unmarried woman. Soon you won’t have any time for me.”

Hermione wanted to point out that they barely had any time for each other as it was but she kept her mouth shut. Hermione looked at Severus who was watching them from a safe distance. Hermione mouthed “sorry” to him. He shook his head. She could tell he was not upset, but the look of worry had not left his eyes.

Hermione hugged everyone goodbye—save Ron and Percy, of course—and figured Phaedra would be coming with them. But when Ginny looped her arm through Hermione’s, Hermione watched Ron and Phaedra disapparate, one after the other. Then she felt the telltale pull at her navel and she knew she too was disappearing into the night.

It had been awhile since Hermione had last visited Harry and Ginny’s place but it was still the quaint little home she remembered. They had bought it long before getting formally engaged, to Mrs. Weasley’s utter disappointment, but what the Weasley matriarch had failed to realize was that Ginny and Harry had already been living together at Grimmauld Place. When Ginny was not on the road playing away games, she would tell her family that she was bunking with some teammates, when in actuality, Hermione could often hear her and Harry talking and giggling into the wee hours.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Ginny said. Harry raised his right hand in a half-hearted wave goodbye and walked to the other room. Hermione supposed it was Harry’s turn to endure late night giggling.

Ginny walked into their kitchen, with Hermione following dutifully behind her. “Let’s get this party started!” she said, beginning to uncork a bottle.

“Ginny—” But Hermione could not finish what she was trying to say before she heard the pop of the cork.

“What?” Ginny asked, reaching up into the cabinet to get the glasses.

“I can’t—I’m not going to partake.”

“But you said you were only not drinking because Snape wasn’t drinking. Snape isn’t here, is he?” Then Ginny got serious. She looked around wildly. “He’s not, is he?”

Hermione laughed. “No, he’s not. But the only reason he said that is because your brother was being such a pest. I didn’t want something to drink because I want to sleep well tonight.”

Ginny put her hands on her hips. “I know you, Hermione. I know you are just going to fret about it all night. Just face it, you’re not going to get a good eight hours! Plus, I have missed having fun with you so much.” Ginny pouted.

The pout might have worked on Harry but it would not on Hermione. Ginny continued to pout while Hermione looked coolly on. Okay, maybe it was working. Hermione reached for a glass, albeit reluctantly.

“Tell me when,” Ginny said cheerfully, pouring the wine fast.

“Whoa, slow down! Do you want me to die of liver failure before my wedding?”

Ginny stopped and started filling her own glass. Hermione took a sip. She winced. “What variety is this again?”

Ginny made an annoyed “humph!” “Now’s not the time for you to be a wine snob. Especially when I offered you my best bottle!”

Hermione took another sip. “Mmm, oh it’s good. Is that notes of leather I detect?” She swirled it again. “Ooh, and is that tobacco smoke?” Ginny hit Hermione lightly on the arm.

“I guess I’ll have to return the bottle I bought for your wedding gift, if you’re going to be like this.”

“Nooo!” Hermione said, much too over the top. Was the wine affecting her already? “You didn’t buy me wine! I’m sure Phaedra would not have put that on the list!”

“You’re right, my soon-to-be sister-in-law would do nothing of the sort.”

Ginny stared at Hermione then, searching her face. Probably for a reaction about the sister-in-law comment. Hermione shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me anymore.”

Hermione thought Ginny would protest and say that she knew Hermione was not still over it. But Ginny seemed to take her words at face-value.

“I already got you the best gift of all: my presence at your wedding. I had to beg my coach to let me go but I was insistent. I said, ‘Listen here, sir, I am not—I repeat—I am not missing my best friend’s first—and maybe not _only_ —sham wedding.’”

Hermione laughed. “Well, Severus and I appreciate it. You will certainly lighten up the place.”

“With my beautiful face? I know it’s rude to outshine the bride, but I can’t help it. With my emerald green bridesmaid dress.”

“I didn’t even ask but they’re _green_!?”

“Yes, I think Phaedra picked them out especially for me. I do look stunning in green.”

Hermione snorted. “Don’t go getting a swell head. Or else you won’t fit in your quidditch helmet anymore. And I think the green is supposed to go with the theme of Slytherin and Gryffindor unity.”

“Oh, I guess that aligns with the red pocket square Harry has to wear. Although I thought it was a belated Christmas thing. Even this far into January.”

Gifts? January? Hermione groaned. “I can’t believe it.”

“What can’t you believe? This amazing wine or my amazing self?” Ginny said, accentuating her curves with her hand.

“No! I mean, you are amazing… but I forgot Severus’s birthday! It’s tomorrow and I haven’t gotten him anything.”

“I mean, you’re giving yourself away to him tomorrow, body and soul.” That comment earned Ginny a light smack on the arm from Hermione. “Plus, it’s like I said: I’ll be there. What else could a man ask for?”

“No, you don’t understand; it’s the principle of the thing! I’m going to marry a man whose birthday I don’t even know!”

“I mean, you are going to marry a man you don’t even love. How is forgetting his birthday _that_ bad, in the grand scheme of things?” Hermione looked at Ginny. She must have seen the guilty expression because she practically yelled, “Merlin, you do love him!”

Hermione nodded. “I realized it today,” she said in a small voice.

“So... is that better or worse?”

Hermione exhaled. “Better than the alternative? Honestly, I don’t know. It kinda… feels worse somehow. If that makes sense?”

“No. How does that make sense?” Ginny said, clearly exasperated by Hermione’s… well, _Hermione-ness_.

“If I love him, I would hate for us to be strong-armed into this. I want us to do this of our own free accord.”

“Well, maybe one day have a real wedding, one—might I add—where I will also be the maid of honor.”

“But what if I stop loving him?” Hermione asked. Even she could hear how whiny and desperate she sounded.

“Will you stop worrying!? That’s the risk in _any_ marriage. Sometimes you just have to take that leap of faith. Merlin, knows I am marrying Harry Potter.”

Hermione looked down at her glass again. It had long ago since been emptied and refilled by Ginny.

“Hermione, what are you not telling me?”

“At dinner, when we had our chat, Percy said I would never be minister.”

“That’s what he wanted to talk to you about?” Ginny asked.

“Yes.” Hermione groaned. “I wonder how much Ron heard of your brother humiliating me. How embarrassing!”

“Oh,” Ginny said, looking sheepish. “It was my idea to send him out there.”

“What? Why would you _ever_ do that?” Hermione had been wondering why Ron had been the one to interrupt them but when your life was imploding, it was hard to keep track

“Snape looked like he was about to murder my brother and we couldn’t have that happening in front of two aurors, a government employee, and countless muggles. So, I sent Ron out there to make sure you were okay.”

“And what did Severus,” Ginny made a face, “think of that?”

“I don’t think he was happy but he kept his mouth shut. And don’t worry about Percy. You know him; he’s full of... gas.”

Hermione just stared at her friend.

“What?” Ginny asked. “Why are you giving me that look?”

“Full of _gas_? Does he have some sort of gastrointestinal ailment?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. He’s a gasbag. Full of hot air.”

Hermione smiled. Even if her world was falling apart around her, her friends could still cheer her up. But it did not stop reality from eventually seeping back in. “He said I would never be minister because they want me to focus on my family and not in a position of power.”

“Well, that’s bullshit! I know you don’t want kids but if anyone could rule a whole country and a family, it would be you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gin, but I’m not entirely sure Percy is lying. For one thing, I haven’t heard from Kingsley in forever. And another thing, this law is supposed to encourage people to have kids and I was supposed to be their shining example, their mascot.”

“Well, that’s a risk you’re going to have to take! I would hate for everything you’ve worked so hard for to all amount to nothing. And it’s not like they can force you and Snape to _you know_...”

Hermione laughed nervously at the thought. “Just like they can’t force me to marry him and yet here I am, about to marry him! And here I was worried I would be sidelined for promotions if I didn’t go along with their plan. Now I’m worried I will get sidelined regardless.”

“So, what are you going to do about it? You can’t just quit after all of this!”

“I have no idea. I hate that I don’t know what to do. Why is the answer never obvious? And this isn’t just about me either, but—no offense—I don’t want Percy to be minister.”

“None taken. For as long as I’ve been aware, I know he’s wanted the position, which is a little frightening to me. Like, does he want to help people or does he just want power? I tend to think it’s the latter. I mean, has Percy ever helped another person in his life?”

Ginny was right. And now Hermione was not able to go to sleep that night, not just because of the wine, but also because of their conversation. Leave it to Hermione to turn a night into frivolity, into a night of anxiety and doubt and existential dread.

She lay there on Ginny and Harry’s couch, the sound of a clock ticking from another room and Ginny’s snoring punctuating her thoughts, wishing simultaneously that time would speed up and that tomorrow would never come.


	31. Chapter 31

_She and Severus were walking from the church. The sun was warm. Their friends and family were all there, throwing rice in a joyful celebration of their marriage. Then Hermione felt a grain of rice on her cheek. It was surprisingly cold. She looked harder. It was not rice at all, but snow. The sky darkened. The rice turned to snow. The snow came down harder. Soon everything was white. And then black._

Hermione woke up early—earlier than she had intended, at least—more disoriented than normal since she was not waking up somewhere foreign. She knew she had to wake up early but with her eyes struggling to stay open she was struggling to remember why exactly she needed to.

Oh, yes, she remembered, with cold clarity, it had not just been just a dream—today was, in fact, the day of her wedding. _Joyous_.

She got up from Ginny and Harry’s couch, trying not to awake Ginny who was snoring loudly on a blow-up mattress, her hair going everywhere. Hermione tiptoed into the bathroom. She sniffed her armpit.

Nope. She could definitely not get away with not showering. She looked at the shower. Did she have to do it? Could she get away with a bath? A bath sounded lovely, especially considering she would not have to stand up for it.

Was it rude to take a bath at someone else’s house? Hermione was not entirely sure. But it was likely that it would be a long time before Ginny and Harry would get up and it was not like they could refuse her this luxury on her wedding day.

Hermione turned on the tap and held her hair in a messy bun with her hand. She was still pretty out of it so she sat in the tub while it was filling. The warm water was so nice. It warmed her to her core. She sank down a little deeper, wishing the water would just go faster so she could be covered all the way. But Hermione had to be careful, lest she fall asleep.

She examined the bottles that were lining the tub. Many were half empty. Hermione did not want to be rude so she picked the bottle of soap that was most full. She unscrewed the top and gave it a good sniff. Hermione could not identify the scent immediately. She looked at the bottle. Roses.

Hermione lathered up quickly and sank into the water once more for some stolen moments of hot, well-scented water. It was a small mercy she could allow herself on this stressful day. Actually, she was surprised how much she liked the scent. Had she never really smelled roses before? That was odd. It was so pleasant, so clean.

And what had Severus said about roses on New Year’s? That they were related to a lot of fruits? How had she not stopped to consider these plants further before?

Hermione had seen the flowers that Phaedra had brought in yesterday. She had not known what they were because they had been spelled to be sparkling silver and gold, at least she thought they had been—Hermione was not aware of a naturally occurring flower that looked like that. So, for all she knew they could be roses. Now she kind of hoped they were.

They had been awfully pretty. She wondered if she would get to keep her bouquet. She was vaguely aware of the tradition of a bride throwing her bouquet to a gaggle of unmarried women, but what was the protocol? Did the bride get the bouquet in the end again?

Merlin, what had gotten into her? The fate of the Wizarding World and her very future hung in the balance and she was worried about flowers that wouldn’t last the week. She sighed. This hot water was apparently messing with her head. She unstoppered the drain and stood up, towelling off.

Today was the end of her life as a single woman.

She stood in the cold of the room, letting the water bead off of her. It was a little weird, but she just wanted to extend this moment for just a smidge longer so she could remember what it felt like to not be married. As the water evaporated off her skin, she shivered. Once again she could see that Severus was right; there was something nice about the cold. It was sobering.

Hermione pulled on her same clothes from yesterday and walked back into the other room. The lights were now on and Ginny was glassy-eyed and crunching on a bowl of cereal.

“Morning,” she said, not bothering to be quiet. Hermione hoped Harry had not heard her. Then again, it was unfair that they had to wake up so early when Harry did not.

“Morning,” Hermione replied, sliding into the seat next to Ginny. “Hey, do you have a toothbrush and maybe some deodorant I can borrow?”

“I don’t know if I can ‘lend’ them to you. I think ‘lend’ implies you will give them back.”

Hermione sighed. “Only you can be this annoying at five in the morning.”

Ginny smiled her biggest cereal-eating grin. “I have to be. I have to get up this early for practice sometimes.”

After finishing their toilettes, Hermione and Ginny were ready to go. Ginny seemed a lot more excited than Hermione, she was practically buzzing with it. She kept wondering aloud what sort of courses the house-elves would be serving at the wedding. Hermione had never met anyone as food-oriented as Ginny. Except maybe Luna’s crup, Jackie.

“Ginny, have you been in contact with Luna, lately?” Hermione asked, now that she was reminded of their friend.

Ginny suddenly looked very guilty. “Hermione, I had no idea.”

“What do you mean?”

Ginny fidgeted. “I may have told her it was a fake wedding.”

“Why is that a—oh… the _Quibbler_ thing.” Hermione thought she should be more angry with both Ginny and Luna for doing that but she supposed she was too tired from everything else to muster the necessary amount of ire.

Ginny nodded. “I felt terrible but I hoped everyone would just chalk it up to Luna being Luna. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But Harry said, in case you got into legal trouble, it was the best for you to know the least amount of information possible.”

“So, you told me now!?” Hermione said.

Ginny smiled weakly. “Well, if you go through with it now, it certainly won’t look good if they sue you.”

“I guess,” Hermione said. Or they could throw her under the bus and make the whole thing seem like her brilliant idea. Merlin knew they only cared about their message and not Hermione herself.

But they had reached their destination and it was best if no one overheard, so they both stopped talking. Hermione did not know exactly where they needed to be, so she headed in the direction of the Great Hall, which seemed to be her best bet.

They walked inside to see the room partially-decorated and Phaedra, who was already dressed and toting a clipboard and wearing something on her head that looked like a Muggle headset.

“You’re here!” she said, spreading her arms wide. Hermione was surprised to see that Phaedra’s emerald green bridesmaid dress was sleeveless. Wasn’t this a winter wedding? “I’ll show you where the bride and her bridesmaids will be stationed.”

Phaedra led them to a room off the hallway that led into the Great Hall. When Hermione stepped inside, she had the distinct feeling that she had never been in the room, but if she was remembering correctly, it used to be a broom closet. Well, now it seemed to be magically enhanced to fit a vanity, a stool, a rack from which several garment bags hung, and a very tired-looking woman Hermione did not recognize.

Phaedra discreetly handed Hermione a paper package and pointed to a privacy screen. When Hermione opened the paper packaging she noticed it was nude, backless bra and matching nude panties. Hermione understood the bra but had less of an easy time understanding the panties. She supposed, on top of everything else, the last thing they needed was her underthings being visible under her dress.

She removed yesterday’s clothes and put on the underwear. Hermione expected her dress to come next but Phaedra handed her a slip.

“You can wear that until it’s closer to the ceremony. We don’t want you getting makeup or hairspray on it!”

Hermione shimmied into the slip and pulled it taut over her body. She walked out from behind the screen, to see that Ginny had also put on her bridesmaid dress. Oh, so everybody else was allowed to wear their dress but Hermione could not be trusted?

Also, she was fairly certain that the bridesmaids were supposed to wear ugly dresses to make the bride look better by comparison, but both looked stunning.

The tired woman, whom Hermione had temporarily forgotten about, stood up motioned for Hermione to sit on the chair in front of the vanity. Hermione did as she was bidden but she regretted it immediately because the woman began to manhandle her, grabbing a sizable chunk of her hair and dragging a hairbrush through it.

Hermione was about to speak up that a brush like that should not be used on curly hair like hers, when she saw what it was doing. The brush must have been treated with Sleekeazy or enchanted in such a way, because when the woman—hairdresser, apparently—ran it through Hermione’s curls, they became straight.

Hermione supposed she ought not be surprised that they were straightening her hair when they had straightened it in the past, but she had not expected them to do it for her wedding day. Or was she naive for assuming they would let her be her authentic self for a _fake_ wedding?

“Well, I still have a lot more items left on my to-do list, so I’ll leave you here, Hermione. But, Ginny, you’re coming with me. We’ll come back to get our hair and makeup done later.”

The two walked away before Hermione heard the telltale sound of high heels slapping against the stone floor. “Can’t have anyone seeing the blushing bride before she’s ready!” Phaedra said coming back into the room briefly closing the door behind her.

Every previous interaction she had had with hairdressers paled in comparison to this one. Her hair continued to be pulled and straightened—and, weirdly enough, re-curled in some places—and piled on her head with pins. It was miserable. And the hairdresser kept chastising her for moving her head. Merlin, she needed to find some painkillers fast or else she would be suffering from a headache before the ceremony even started.

Meanwhile the hairdresser chatted amicably with Hermione about the upcoming ceremony. Hermione, even in normal situations, was not the most skilled at small-talk, but in this time of heightened stress, she found it even more difficult to form more than monosyllabic answers. And it made her feel even worse since this woman was just doing her job and Hermione was coming across as rude.

“And you are all set!” the hairdresser said when she had finished styling Hermione’s hair and gave her a pat on the shoulder.

Hermione regarded herself in the mirror. The hairstyle was… complex, to say the least. There were braids and bumps and curling tendrils framing her face. To put it kindly, it looked like there was some kind of dessert on her head.

“I do hope you like it,” the hairdresser said. “It was a big deal for me to be chosen.”

Her stomach fell. There Hermione went again, being completely rude. It was not as if the woman had come up with the design on her own; she had probably had to get it approved by a committee.

“I love it,” Hermione said, laying it on thick. “This wedding is really going to be like something out of a fairytale.”

“Speaking of which,” the hairdresser said. “I nearly forgot.”

Hermione watched the hairdresser from the room walk into the corner of the room and retrieve a large velvet box. The hairdresser opened it and Hermione saw the largest, most glittery tiara, she had seen in her life.

Merlin, was Liz missing some of her crown jewels? And that was going on her head?

The hairdresser must have seen Hermione’s face because she said, “Oh, don’t worry; they’re not real.”

That was good to hear. With this hairstyle and that tiara, she might end up with an angry mob outside and her head forcibly removed from her neck.

“I’m sorry; I never got your name,” Hermione said, as the hairdresser began securing the tiara in her hair.

“Marianne,” she responded, focusing intently.

Hermione nodded which earned her a firm but gentle nudge to keep her head still and facing forward. “Sorry, Marianne.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “At least I will be paid handsomely.”

As if one cue, Phaedra entered the room, envelope in hand and left it with Marianne’s hairdressing supplies. Hermione supposed that must be the handsome payment Marianne was talking about.

Marianne snatched up the envelope before whispering something in Phaedra’s ear and walking from the room.

“Oh, no, stay seated. The makeup artist will also want to do your makeup from there,” Phaedra said, now perched on a nearby stool.

“Right,” Hermione said, sitting back down.

The two sat in silence while pins continued to dig into Hermione’s skull. But since Marianne was out of earshot for the time being, Hermione asked, “Phaedra?”

“Yes?”

“When you see Ginny again, could you send her on a raid to the Hospital Wing? And if she protests, tell her I know she can do it—she is a Weasley after all.”

Phaedra smiled at that. Hermione smiled too. The Weasleys were not all bad. Some of them were even pleasant to be around. Phaedra was one of them. “I’ll do you one better,” she responded. “I’ll find her now.”

Phaedra had come and gone and in that time, the makeup person had arrived. The makeup part seemed to excite Phaedra the most, who cooed every once and a while from her corner, while Marianne, who had also returned, worked on her hair. Hermione could not see why but what was also because she literally could not see as she was poked and prodded and repeatedly told to open and close her mouth and eyes.

The worst part was the eyeliner. She hated that with a passion. The makeup artist was threatening to tape her eyes open for this part since Hermione seemed unable to force herself not to flinch when the eyeliner pencil drew nearer. But with enough steady breathing and looking away Hermione was able to endure the torture.

When she looked in the mirror, she was suddenly aware of what had gotten Phaedra so excited. Her lips were a usual red but her eyes were lined with silver and there was silver glitter traveling from her lids to her temple. It was a lot more avant-garde for a ministry-sponsored wedding than Hermione would have expected but she liked it all the same.

“Do you like it?” Phaedra asked, barely able to contain her glee.

“Uh-huh,” was all Hermione could manage at first, but she quickly added, “It’s stunning.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Phaedra fidgeted then. “I may have helped with the design.”

“Oh, wow! That’s cool,” Hermione said, sounding actually quite unenthused. “At least we know you have a career in makeup if this ministry thing doesn’t pan out.”

But Phaedra could not respond since it was her turn to be tortured with the brushes and pencils.

Ginny arrived then, covertly slipping a bottle of something to Hermione from behind her back. Hermione’s eyes darted around the room before she downed the contents in a hurry. She should have probably checked the label before she drank it, but if she trusted anyone not to poison her, it was Ginny.

After she had consumed it fully, Hermione looked at Madam Pomfrey’s neat handwriting and saw that it was, indeed, a tonic for headaches. Then she also noticed the ring of red lipstick surrounding the neck of the bottle. Whoops. That probably meant she would not be allowed anymore food or drink until after the ceremony. Her stomach groaned in protest.

“Great,” Hermione said, standing up. “So, do you anymore need help?”

Phaedra’s eyes were closed, but she said. “Don’t worry; we’ve got that covered. The guys will be here soon to help. We don’t want you to get sweaty. Also you know the groom shouldn’t see you. And your mother should be here soon.”

Shit, Hermione thought. She had forgotten all about them.

“Don’t worry about your parents either. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are getting them.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!?” First of all, what would transpire between the Weasleys and her parents? Second of all, the Weasleys were invited to her wedding?

But Phaedra understood this unspoken question. “The ministry wanted the Great Hall full to the brim guests—more prestigious that way—and since Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are respected members of the community, Percy thought they would make good candidates and invited them.”

Hermione wanted to frown but she was so afraid to crease her makeup or disturb her hairstyle that she kept her face uneven. Nevertheless, Phaedra was still able to read her.

“Just relax; Mrs. Weasley will be too busy criticizing me to even notice you. Oh, and, Hermione,” Phaedra said. “I know we told you to wear it all times, but you don’t have to wear your necklace today.”

Hermione’s hand flew to her neck. She felt the cool metal under her fingers. Phaedra’s comment had sounded like it was a suggestion but Hermione recognized it for what it was: an order. Begrudgingly she reached behind her neck to unfasten the clasp. The necklace pooled into her hands and she stared at it for a moment before stuffing it into her coat pocket.

* * *

Severus woke up at the usual time, without the aid of his alarm clock. He hopped into the shower and did his routine in record time, before hopping back out. Severus dried off with one of his well-worn towels. His linens had definitely seen better days, so maybe if towels were on the registry, Severus might take one or two. Even if they were monogrammed with his and Hermione’s initials.

He did not fuss with clothes since he would be changing soon anyways and got dressed in his uniform of a white button-up shirt and black trousers. He coated his face in shaving cream and reached for his razor. He smiled to himself. In the future he would shave sparingly, but today he would have to go clean-shaven.

When he reached into his medicine cabinet to put his razor back into its holder, he noticed the forgotten bottle of aftershave Minvera had bought him one year for Christmas. He unscrewed the lid and sniffed it. It was certainly not the worst smell he had ever inhaled—that honor definitely went to the Slytherin boys’ dormitory—so he dabbed a little on his face. If there ever was a day to smell good, today was that day.

Severus stepped outside and let the wind tug on his hair. Winter really was his favorite season and not just because it was the season his birthday landed on. To be frank, he had not thought of his birthday in many years and was only forced to remember it this year because the wedding fell on it. But regardless of the date, today was shaping up to be the most interesting day Severus had had in a long time.

It had also begun to drizzle. Severus wondered if that meant it would be snowing in Scotland. He had always been partial to snow and that he had missed the most of not living at Hogwarts. Severus liked how it seemed to dampen ambient sound, coating the world in a muffling blanket.

And on nights, when he could walk the grounds, he would stop to watch the snow fall, illuminated by the lamps surrounding the exterior of the castle. Time had slowed for him as he watched the heavy flakes make their descent.

Was it good or bad luck if it snowed on your wedding? Severus had only heard it being bad luck if it rained, but he assumed there was no corollary for snow because people did not tend to get married in months where snow would be a concern.

Severus looked at his watch. The wards would be down for thirty minutes for the men to arrive at the school. The wards would be open at a later time as well for guests to arrive as well. It was an imperfect system—why couldn’t they just leave the wards down the whole time?—but Severus supposed it would keep away interlopers.

When Severus reappeared at Hogwarts, the halls were empty, devoid of the activity he had anticipated. He saw Miss Weasley hurrying about in a green gown. When she heard him coming, she turned to smile at him and instructed him to go to the Great Hall to get dressed.

When he reached the Great Hall, Severus realized that’s where all the activity was. People were bustling around hanging streamers and filling it with flowers. Severus knew he would have to help as well once he was fully-dressed.

Phaedra was standing on the dais, also in a green dress, giving orders. She stopped when she saw Severus.

“Ah, the groom is here! Wonderful,” she said with a smile. “Follow me.”

Phaedra led Severus to the portrait room. Severus knew he was not supposed to see Hermione but that did not stop him from looking for her.

“Put this on,” Phaedra said, handing him a garment bag from a rack. Severus did as he was instructed though he wished he had help because he wanted to be sure he had it exactly right. Sure, he had worn a three-piece suit in the past, but he wanted to make sure his pocket square was folded correctly and the tie was just so.

Yet no one was coming in to make sure he had done his task correctly. So he left the portrait room to return to the Great Hall.

He walked up to Phaedra who was now directing house-elves on how to assemble the flower arch. Severus cleared his throat.

Phaedra turned around, looking annoyed that she had been interrupted, but when she noticed it was Severus, she softened.

Severus gestured to his ensemble. “Well?” he asked.

“You look great! But actually can you take off your jacket and place the name cards on the chairs? Thanks.” She handed him a clipboard and a stack of folded cardstock without another word.

Severus looked down at the list on the clipboard, then at the spot where Miss Chapman was standing, then back down to the list. Though why he was so surprised, he was unsure. He had been hoping to be useful just yesterday, so the fact that he had been given a task should come as no surprise.

Severus took a closer look at the diagram of the chairs. He should start at the upper left section, if the top name on the stack was any indication. He did not recognize the name, however, which was weird, since this person would be in the front row.

The next name on the stack was the minister—made sense—but the third name was Percy Weasley’s. Ugh, of course, that stuck-up, conniving prick would be in the front row.

The rest of the names in the stack continued in a similar manner—placing many names he did not recognize among a fewer number of names he did—until the stack had diminished. A lot of the names he had recognized had been members of the Order, who would know both him and Hermione, but he had to question the logic behind inviting basically the entire Weasley clan, especially considering their shared history with Hermione. But if she was over it, then maybe it was not the end of the world. Surely, they would know to behave themselves, right?

Severus returned to Miss Chapman to get his next task. Now that he had completed one, he was actually starting to enjoy it. Normally Severus was cool under pressure, but he could admit that his pulse was starting the quicken the more he thought about what was going to happen. In just a few hours he would be married to Hermione. He had had weeks to prepare for this outcome, but he was nevertheless worried. So right now he needed to do everything he could to keep his mind off of what was just about to occur.

Severus could also appreciate that he was not just “showing up,” as it were, that he was actually being useful for his own wedding. He could not say the same thing for his groomsmen, who were nowhere to be found, but at least he himself was helping.

He was in the middle of setting out the party favors, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, expecting to see Phaedra criticizing his placement of the gifts, when he saw Mrs. Granger. Then he saw who else was behind her.

“Mrs. Granger, Mr. Granger,” he said. He tried not to grimace before he said the next part, “Mrs. Weasely, Mr. Weasley.”

Severus was not sure how the planets had to align so that the five of them would find themselves at Hogwarts for a fake wedding between himself and their daughter/former daughter-in-law, but that is exactly where they found themselves now. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, at least, had enough decency to look sufficiently uncomfortable.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“I am setting out the party favors. Don’t ask,” Severus added, trying to be humorous and disturb the awkwardness that had settled between them. “I don’t know what they are.”

“No, I meant why are you out here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

Severus shrugged. “I am ready. I’m dressed. I have my vows memorized.” He had been disappointed that he could not go out to get a snack with Hermione last night, but at least it had provided him with the opportunity to practice last night. And it had given him the opportunity to personalize them.

That was apparently the extent of Mrs. Granger’s questioning, because she pivoted to asking, “Where’s my daughter? In the kitchens, preparing our meals?”

Severus could not help but smile at that. Hermione actually might prefer to be in the kitchen if it meant that she could help the house-elves. “I have no idea because I’m not supposed to see her, remember? But I’m sure Miss Chapman could help you.”

Mrs. Granger smiled at that, but the smile did not reach her eyes. What had happened to yesterday’s demeanor? Suddenly it did not seem she was Severus’s biggest fan. Had he done something wrong?

“Alright, thanks for the help. I’ll go find her.”

The four of them left. Mr. Weasley gave him a little nod before turning away. Severus was suddenly reminded of the incident where Arthur had cornered him in his shop. And now look at him—he was actually giddy at the thought of marrying Hermione!

Severus had removed his watch since he did not know if it was poor form to wear a watch with his suit, so he cast a tempus charm to see the time.

“Getting nervous, old chap?” a nasally voice said. Severus looked up from the time to see Percy walking toward him. He was dressed to impress—even Severus could tell that—but his expression was that of boredom.

And _old chap_? Who did he think he was calling him old chap? Severus had never been called such a thing in his entire life.

“I would be if I were you.”

“Weasley, don’t you have somewhere else you could be?” _Shouldn’t you be ruining someone else’s life?_ he wanted to add but kept his mouth shut for Hermione’s sake.

“Why would I be anywhere else? This is exactly where I want to be. Where I _need_ to be.”

Severus did not know what to make of that but he already had his wand out from checking the time and he gripped it tighter. It was not a threat but it could certainly become one. He did not like Weasley’s tone, especially when it concerned Hermione.

Weasley laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me when I’m trying to help you, old chap. Cut your losses and go. I’ll even let you keep the suit.”

Severus could kill this man and hide the body before the wedding started; he knew he still had time. There also didn’t have to be witnesses; the wedding guests had not begun arriving yet.

But before Severus could even think of the most painful way to kill Percy, he walked away, his hands in his pockets.

Severus straightened up and put his wand away like nothing had transpired. And in Severus’s mind nothing had happened because he knew Percy was getting under his skin. What a better way to ruin Hermione’s wedding than by getting rid of her groom.

Then again, it was a little unsubtle and Weasley was not _un_ clever, especially if he had made it this far as a politician with such a repulsive personality. Was it reverse psychology? Did he want him to stay? But there was no risk of him leaving. So, what was his goal? Just sow doubt in Severus’s mind for the hell of it?

Weasley was a prick; maybe this fact shouldn’t surprise Severus.

* * *

Hermione did not ever remember particularly warm at Hogwarts. If anything, all she remembered was layering up under her school uniform on particularly cold, winter mornings. So, now, sitting in the room, in an almost backless dress, which she had finally put on, Hermione had to wonder why she was sweating so much. Finally she understood why the bridesmaids’ dresses were sleeveless. Merlin, why hadn’t she had the foresight to request a sleeveless dress?

The door opened and her mother entered the room, trailed by Mrs. Weasley. Hermione stood up from her stool. She had known that Mrs. Weasley would be at the wedding, but she had not expected to see her here of all places.

“Hello, mum, and… Molly.” Hermione had never called her that when she and Ron were together and she felt a small thrill at doing so.

“Hermione Jean, I cannot believe you,” her mother said, walking over to the rack to find her dress. When she saw her name, she took the whole garment bag with her behind the screen. That left Hermione conspicuously alone with Mrs. Weasley.

“I’m sorry?” she said, not sure what she had done wrong. It was her wedding; wasn’t she allowed to do whatever she pleased? At least, that’s what all media she had consumed about marriages and brides had led her to believe.

“Your poor husband-to-be is out there doing all of this work and you’re in here, sitting on your arse!”

That surprised Hermione. Of course she had not seen Severus all day so she did not know what he was doing at this moment. Her heart swelled at the idea of him being helpful. Then it abruptly sank when she realized once again she did not deserve him.

“I was told to sit here. I would be yelled at if I ruined my dress!” Although it might already be ruined with pit stains at this point.

“You know what kind of man helps like that?” her mother asked. “Can you help zip me up?”

Hermione sighed and walked behind the screen to help her mother zip up her dress. “A decent one?” she said, answering her first question.

“I feel like I just gave this Phoebe girl my measurements the other week and I can’t fit into this dress.”

“Mum, stop. You look great.”

“Anyway,” her mom said. Her mother never wanted to engage with Hermione on topics of body positivity. “No, that’s a man who loves you! Very deeply. You are so lucky. Do you realize that? You will _not_ break this man’s heart!”

Did they have to have this conversation in front of Mrs. Weasley? Or had she gone because she could not stand the awkwardness? Hermione could not see her from behind the privacy screen but she had also not heard her leave.

“If I was going to break his heart, why were you flirting with him?”

“To make you realize that you love him!”

What. The. Fuck. Hermione did not know what was worse: that her suspicions had been confirmed or that her mother had done it in the first place. “Why would you do that? Why are you meddling? Don’t you see how messed up that is?”

“I just want you to be happy! I don’t want you to miss out on a man who is actually good for you.”

“It’s not your job to make me happy! And how does that make me happy?”

“I am your mother. I know you. I raised you.”

“So? I am my own person. And a man will not make me happy!”

“Fine, but he can complement your happy life. Except you are determined to be miserable at that awful job of yours!”

“Oh, so now we’re talking about my job! And tell me, why are we fighting again? On my wedding of all days?”

“Does the mother of the bride get a makeup artist and hairdresser too?” her mother asked, repositioning her hair. She had walked over to the mirror.

Hermione supposed that was the end of _that_. Well, good. It was not like she wanted to reach the conclusion of that disagreement. Then again, she was sure she was going to be fighting with her mother about her job for the rest of time. What a lovely thought.

“Yes, they’ll be back soon for you, I’m sure,” Hermione said, fiddling with the sleeve of her dress. She was really starting to hate wearing it. The lace was itchy and the train was so heavy that it was difficult to move. Maybe she would not have a hard time walking slowly down the aisle.

The scratchy lace against her back reminded Hermione of the whole reason she had started this. And to think, she had thought it would prevent her from wearing a sexy dress to make Ron, of all people, jealous at Harry and Ginny’s wedding. Now she was wearing a backless dress to her own wedding to Snape, of all people! And all of this was possible because she bought that rash cream from him. How had fate orchestrated that to happen?

“Wait, what did you say?” Hermione said, with a sinking feeling. Now she was remembering what else her mother had said.

“About the hairdresser? Do you think they will touch-up my roots for me?”

“No, you said vows.” Hermione groaned. “I was supposed to have my vows memorized, wasn’t I?” Hermione sat back onto her stool, burying her head in her hands and probably smudging her makeup. “And I don’t have the notecards with me.”

Ginny, to her credit, was at Hermione’s side in an instant. “It’ll be okay, Hermione. You’ll be able to memorize them in no time.”

She felt another hand on her shoulder. Hermione looked up expecting to see her mother, but it was Mrs. Weasley who was currently giving her a sympathetic look. Where did she get off, looking like that? It was her demon spawns’—plural—fault that Hermione was even in this situation.

Alright. Well, there weren’t that many lines and Hermione was known for anything, it was memorizing things. How hard could it be?


	32. Chapter 32

Despite not having been given any food or drink, Hermione had to use the toilet—and not just because she wanted to go somewhere private to cry. Phaedra was nowhere in sight. Mrs. Weasley had taken her seat beside Mr. Weasley in the Great Hall while Ginny was helping seat the remaining guests. It was just Hermione and her mother now. Surely, _she_ wouldn’t mind if Hermione snuck out for a second?

“Where are you going?” her mother asked when she had nearly gotten to the door. Hermione had hoped her mother would not notice since only moments ago she had been absorbed in a book.

“To the… you know…” Hermione said, making an indelicate squatting motion.

“Won’t you be seen?” her mother said, apparently unfazed by Hermione’s gesture.

“Doesn’t it only matter if the groom sees me?”

“He could be wandering out there. He was before.”

“Do you want me to pee up there during the ceremony? Besides, I can cast a disillusionment charm.”

“I don’t know what that is but I’ll take your word for it.”

Hermione whispered the incantation and pushed open the door. She immediately regretted the decision. What if the door was dusty? She looked down. Her dress still seemed to be in pristine condition but she would have to be more careful going forward.

She tiptoed into the hallway, mindful of all the people milling about. They did not notice her—as expected—but the group only seemed to be composed of the band members, as evidenced by their uniform dress. She walked past them, carrying the train of her dress so she could navigate more easily.

And Merlin, was navigation difficult. If she had thought getting changed in a bathroom stall was difficult, she should have anticipated just how much more difficult it would be to use one in a wedding dress with a ginormous train.

She exited the stall, her train still bunched in her arms. Merlin, she hoped this material would not wrinkle. Hermione walked over to the sink to wash her hands when she got a look at herself in the mirror above the sink. Sure, she had seen herself in mirrors while she was getting her hair and makeup done, but that lighting had been nice. In comparison, this light was harsh and unforgiving. It was strange—to say the least—to see herself in this context, a bathroom that she had frequented so much growing up. It was jarring, to say the least.

When Hermione had finished—she really ought not to have gone in there alone—she recast the disillusionment charm and walked back into the hallway. The band members were still loitering there, chatting. She had not intended to eavesdrop but when she saw one pull the other one in for a hug, Hermione stopped dead in her tracks.

“You and Dottie broke up?”

“I tried to explain to her that I had to marry a man or else face the consequences from my government but she doesn’t understand because she’s a muggle. I told her it could have been a fake marriage, but she was still upset because if—and when, fingers crossed—we’re able to be married, we couldn’t if I was already married to a man.”

“That’s really fucked up; I’m so sorry. But there’s always divorce, right?”

“Yes, but who knows if this law will even cover same-sex marriages. I mean, is this law a forever thing?”

“Honestly, who knows with this administration?”

Hermione felt like she had just been punched in the gut. Suddenly it became all of the more real that this law was not only about her but also about every other witch. She should have realized this much sooner. Why had she not realized it sooner?

She made it back to her little prison but when she opened the door she was surprised to see there was someone else in the room with her mom. She still had not removed the disillusionment and stepped inside.

Evidently Hermione had not made her presences sufficiently known because Phaedra was asking about her. “And you’re sure she went to the bathroom? And didn’t make a run for it?”

“That’s what she told me.”

“She’s been gone for an awfully long time.”

“It takes an awfully long time to pee in this dress,” Hermione said, announcing herself.

“Hermione!” Phaedra said, turning quickly and putting on her happiest face. “You know, if you had to use the restroom, you could have come found me.”

“I did not want to bother you with something so trivial when you’ve got so many other things to do.” _And, so you could listen to me use the bathroom? No, thank you,_ she thought.

Phaedra did not say anything but stepped closer to Hermione. She circled Hermione like a vulture.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked, feeling once more a little scared of Phaedra.

“Checking for dirt,” Phaedra responded, picking up the train to examine it closer.

“Well, I was careful…”

“Mhm,” Phaedra said, not taking her eyes off Hermione. “And what is this then?” she asked, holding up a tiny piece of the train.

“I mean… A little bit of dirt is inevitable.” Phaedra took out her wand—from Merlin-knew-where since she did not have any pockets—and tapped it against the dress. The stain disappeared in an instant. “See? No big deal. We’re all witches here. Well, except...” she turned to look back at her mother who was not paying them any attention, absorbed in her book.

“I can see where you get it,” Phaedra said, clearly trying to diffuse any lingering tension and make small-talk.

Hermione looked at her mother again. Seeing her, sitting there with her nose in a book filled Hermione with an unexpected softness for her mother. Sure, she was a pain in Hermione’s ass, especially when she decided to meddle. But how much of Hermione’s own personality came from her mother; she did not spring from the earth a fully-developed human. Good or bad, a lot of who Hermione was could be attributed to her parents. And it was not like her actions had actually harmed her relationship with Severus.

No, if anything did happen between them, it would entirely be Hermione’s fault.

It was then that Ginny popped in. “She was not in Gryffindor tower, Phee!” she said, out breath. “Oh, there you are, Mione. Well, at least I can tell coach I got my cardio in for the day.”

“Were you really that worried I would run?” Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips. She hoped her hands were dirty or this time she might actually be murdered by Phaedra.

“Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing you can’t apparate out of here,” Ginny said, wrapping her arm around Hermione’s waist.

Hermione laughed nervously. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

* * *

When guests had begun arriving, Severus had been pulled from the Great Hall back into the portrait room, where the rest of his groomsmen were hanging out. Severus discovered what had been keeping them back there: generous amounts of champagne. Merlin, was it a good idea to get them sloshed when they still had important duties to do?

Who had the rings by the way? Was it someone in the room? Or were they, hopefully, in the capable hands of Miss Chapman?

“Severus, my boy, stop pacing. You’re making me tired just looking at you,” Slughorn said, taking another sip from his champagne flute.

“Sorry,” Severus mumbled. Why were they getting drunk anyway? It was not as if they had any reason to be nervous. They just had to stand there and not make asses of themselves. Though, at this rate, that might be too great of a task for Slughorn.

“Five minutes,” Phaedra said, entering the portrait room, a box in hand. Severus soon learned the box contained magicked gold roses which she pinned to all of their lapels. “Oh, Merlin, sir, and I thought I was nervous,” she said when she had finished with Severus’s.

“Not to worry, Miss Chapman. I will be right as rain in a moment. I just have to center myself.” He still had some deep-breathing techniques from when he was regularly practicing Occlumency. “Everything will be fine, right?”

“Well, we lost the bride for a moment, but I think everything is fine now.”

“You lost the bride?” Severus wanted to say “my bride,” but he did not want to sound possessive, even if it was true.

Phaedra made a dismissive gesture, like it should be hardly any concern to Severus. “It was no big deal. She was in the bathroom.”

“How did she look, by the way?” Severus knew he was not supposed to see her but that did not mean he could not worry about her. He also could not stop thinking about how stricken she had looked yesterday.

“She looks stunning, trust me.” Severus knew that Phaedra knew that was not what he had been asking. So, why was she deflecting in this way? Was it possible that Hermione was even more nervous than him? Severus nodded even though he desperately wanted to ask more questions.

“How should I stand, by the way?” Severus asked. He was not terribly disappointed that Miss Chapman had not had too much to say about his comportment yesterday but now he kind of wished he knew exactly what to do so there was no chance he could mess it up.

Phaedra just looked at him. “How should you stand?”

“You know… how should I hold my hands?”

“Oh… just stand how you normally stand; it’ll be fine. Besides—and, no offense—no one is going to be looking at you anyway. They’ll all be looking at the bride. But if you’re that worried… just be sure to look sufficiently happy to be there and no one will judge you for it.”

Severus supposed it was somewhat of a relief that he would probably be fine regardless of what happened out there, but then that made him all the more nervous for Hermione. She was already having enough trouble as it was; she did not need the pressure of the intense scrutiny.

“It’s not fair, but when have the media ever been fair in the way they portray women and their choices?” Phaedra asked.

And this law is helping? But Severus kept his mouth shut. Phaedra probably wouldn’t hear him because her hand was pressed up against her earpiece as someone was probably telling her something through it.

“Alright, Mr. Snape. It’s showtime.”

* * *

Phaedra had told Hermione that she would be waiting with Hermione by the entrance to tell her exactly when to go in. Ginny was beside her at least, so that was something, but she would like to have Miss In-Charge-of-Everything there too.

She stared at her bouquet. It was comprised entirely of white roses that had been charmed to sparkle silver. It was weird to think that morning was the first time she had really thought to consider what roses smelled like and now she had an overwhelming desire to sniff the ones in her hand. But there was also a good chance that she would not get foundation on the delicate white petals.

Then she heard the sound of heels striking the stone floors and someone out of breath.

“Still happy apparition isn’t allowed within Hogwarts?” Hermione asked, not meaning to sound quite so smug.

“It’s okay. I planned this run ahead of time. I ran it a couple of times yesterday to make sure I had enough time and the fastest route down.”

Hermione raised a brow. “You never cease to impress me and terrify me.”

Phaedra gave Hermione her best wolfish grin grin. “Good. As it should be.”

* * *

Severus was waiting at the altar with his hands clasped in front of him, mentally going through his vows. Miss Chapman had told him as long as he looked happy to be there he would be fine. He was not smiling but he hoped he projected an air of happiness. It was not like the people expected him, Severus Snape, known scowler, to be smiling. It was better that way, anyway. Then the photographers would not have to edit his horrid teeth.

The music began and with it picked up Severus’s heart rate. Any moment now he would see Hermione—his Hermione!—walking down that aisle in a dress that he had never seen, but was sure she looked gorgeous in. Before he knew it they would be joined together permanently in the eyes of the law. Merlin, he was not ready.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to do great. You and Hermione are great together.”

Severus looked behind him at Harry. He nodded at his best man. He wished he had been drinking as his groomsmen had been, then maybe he would feel a little more confident. That niggling, bad feeling still lingering in the back of his head.

The music picked up which was Hermione’s cue to enter. She walked in, a veil over her face. The entire population of the Great Hall turned to look at her; gasps could be heard throughout. Miss Chapman and Weasley were carrying her train. Severus wished he could see her face so he would know what she was feeling but her whole face was obscured. Was she nervous? Excited? Mortified? A dizzying combination of all three, as Severus currently felt?

* * *

Hermione wished the rehearsal had involved practicing with a train and a veil. Sure, Ginny and Phaedra were helping her to carry it, but walking in heels with the long dress was a lot different than walking in the heels with her slacks. And sure, the veil was magicked so that she could see through it, but it trapped her breath which was hot and cloying.

But despite all of these drawbacks, she made it to the dais and opposite Severus. Ginny and Phaedra arranged her train just so behind her and moved to step behind her. She hoped they would grab it once more when the ceremony had finished and it was time to leave the dais, that they would take the train once more, because there was no way she was not going to trip.

Merlin, how was she even going to dance in this? Would they let her rip the train off?

Hermione was pleased that Severus could not see her face or the blush on her cheeks or the way she was puzzling through these questions. But just as she realized how grateful she was in actuality for the veil, it was lifted from her face and thrown over her tiara. How had he done it so gracefully? How had he known? This was not part of their rehearsal.

She inhaled sharply when she saw his face. She hoped no one else could hear it. All she saw was dark eyes and his sharp features, but they were both softened considerably by the look of pure joy on his face.

_Oh no. Oh no. Oh no._

McGonagall began talking and thanking everyone for joining them on this day of all days to celebrate the two of them joining in that most sacred of unions. But all Hermione was thinking was how she had begged Snape to marry her and offered to pay him for his service. Then she remembered every kiss from the fake ones up until their more recent, very real ones. She remembered him being her friend and the times he might have been something more.

Then she felt his strong and rough, but deliciously warm hands wrap around hers. She could feel her pulse slow and her body relax. And then he did her absolute favorite thing: he squeezed her hands three times. She did not know what it meant exactly, but it was reassuring.

And then a glimmer caught her attention from the corner of her eye. With so much glitter around, she might not think anything of it, except it had come from the metal frame of Percy’s horn-rimmed glasses. He was looking at her with gleeful contempt and malice. She did not know what stupid game he was playing but he looked like he thought he was winning.

Hermione cast a quick glance at all of the other men lined up beside Percy. They all had an equally gleeful look, like they had won their prize. Hermione could not help but think of the band member who had lost their girlfriend to the law. She was not the only one whose freedom was at stake; she was not the only victim.

Then again, as much as she was the victim, she was also complicit in all of this. What if it had been Phaedra they had chosen to be their mascot? What would have happened then? Would she be sitting in that row of powerful people looking just as self-satisfied?

Her thoughts were interrupted when McGonagall stopped speaking. It was her turn, wasn’t it?

Hermione opened her mouth but her mind had gone blank. The vows she had hastily memorized had evaporated completely. The only word she could remember was “Severus.” She would need to improvise it. Her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth as she began to form the sibilant sound. It was as good of a start as any.

Then the crowd gasped. Was she doing that bad of a job? But when she hazarded a glance toward her audience, Hermione could see they were all looking at the ceiling. She followed their gazes.

“Snow?” she said. The beginning of his name had morphed into that word. It had apparently begun snowing lightly outside—which was hardly worth the gasp, in her opinion—but then, the more Hermione watched, the harder it seemed to fall. Her heart thudded in her chest as she remembered her dream.

The castle was surely enchanted to withstand something like this, but an intrusive thought was forming in Hermione’s mind. She had a vision of the weight of the snow becoming so great that the roof collapsed under the weight of it and they were all crushed.

Hermione had never seen it snow this hard before. But, she told herself, even if the roof did collapse, there were enough witches and wizards in the audience, to stop it, right?

Too late, however, for that realization. Hermione’s chest still felt like someone was sitting on it and her tongue was even more leaden. The distraction only bought her a little extra time; she still had to continue with this sham.

 _Or did she?_ a tiny voice told her from the back of her mind.

She felt another squeeze. She looked up at Severus. His gaze was so intense and full of emotion that she had to look away; it seemed to burn her.

She looked at Ginny whose smile seemed to be telling Hermione, “You can do this!” Then her gaze landed on Phaedra. Was she crazy or was she looking at Hermione sympathetically? No, Hermione must be imagining it. Whatever rode on Hermione getting this right, that same pressure sat equally heavy on Phaedra’s shoulders. There was no way she would want Hermione to ruin any part of this.

And then she seemed to mouth, “go.”

Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was because she was used to following Phaedra, or maybe it was the dread threatening to crack her sternum, but Hermione followed those instructions.

But before she bolted, she looked at Severus one last time. She swore she could see the understanding of what she was about to do in his eyes. Well, hadn’t he said he would run away with her? Wasn’t this a long time coming?

Hermione lifted her train and started running. Mercifully, Phaedra had charmed the hell out of the pumps. She pumped her legs as fast as they would allow. She was making a concerted effort to look at any of the faces in the room, but she was sure they were all horrified.

Her heels clicked against the stone, just as Phaedra’s had done. Is that why she had charmed the shoes so thoroughly? Because she wanted Hermione to make a quick escape?

Merlin, if there was any time she wished she could apparate within Hogwarts, it was now. Maybe McGonagall pitied her and had lifted the enchantments and she should try it. Except Hermione was scared that if she stopped running someone would catch her and drag her back inside.

 _Crack_. The heel on Hermione’s left shoe snapped off and suddenly Hermione had too much forward momentum. She landed hard onto the stone floor.

Maybe they were not as charmed as Hermione had thought. Come to think of it, maybe Phaedra had not actually meant for her to leave. Maybe she had meant “go,” as in “go ahead and say your vows.”

She took stock of her surroundings. No one seemed to be following her. Not even Severus. Her heart sank.

Should she go back in there? No, the damage was done. There was no universe in which Percy or the press would let her live that down.

And Severus had not followed her. Hadn’t he said he would follow her anywhere? What was this, then?

She had really mucked things up, hadn’t she?

Hermione stuck her heel back on with a sticking charm and stood up shakily. She had rolled her left ankle, but it seemed okay when she put weight on it. Hermione walked—well, hobbled—the rest of the way out of the castle.

It was not warm outside, but after her run and the stifling heat of the building, the cool air actually felt good. It was nice to feel something other than an impending sense of dread.

Then Hermione noticed something. It was not actually snowing. Had it stopped? No, it seemed like it had not started to begin with. The snow had an icy sheen on it like it had thawed and refrozen. That’s not how it would look if there was fresh snow on top of it.

So what had happened back there? Had someone enchanted the ceiling? And to what end? Surely this person would not have known about her dream, right?

While she pondered this and other mysteries, Hermione was finally beginning to feel the chill. At least the snow was making her ankle feel better. Nevertheless, she still needed to cast a warming charm since it was a little ways until she got out of the anti-apparition zone.

With every step, Hermione grew more and more despondent. No one—not her parents, Harry, Ginny, Percy, Phaedra, or even Severus—was out here with her.

She lowered her wand and a sparkle caught her eye. Her engagement ring. Well, there was no way she was keeping that now. She pried it off and let it fall where it may. It sank into the snow, but if she knew the ministry, there was probably some sort of tracking enchantment on it and some poor intern would be out there soon enough digging it out. But that was also why she could not leave it on her finger.

Next came the tiara, which put up quite the fight. After a couple of tugs, she realized her only option was to cut it out, which she did with perhaps a little too much glee. Although now she was uncertain she had not done it as an excuse to have the short haircut that would inevitably be needed to salvage this hack job. But whether it was spite or necessity, Hermione felt an overwhelming sense of catharsis.

The last to go was her necklace. She reached her hand up to grab it, but her hand only met her bare breastbone. Damn, she was trying to be dramatic, but Phaedra had foiled her plans by making her leave the necklace in her coat pocket.

Which also meant that she had left her coat there. Oh well. That was the least of her concerns now.

She still felt that destructive energy coursing through her so she used her want to slice off that ridiculous train. Honestly, she was surprised it had not been the train that tripped her up, but the shoes. It would be a total Cinderella move to leave them behind too but she, unfortunately, still needed them.

Hermione had reached the Forbidden Forest at this point, the end of her journey. Weirdly enough, she still had the bouquet, which was a little smushed from the fall, but still in relatively good condition. She debated throwing it into the woods for the critters to snack on, but part of her wanted to hold on to it.

Maybe, she thought, it was fitting that this was all she had kept, as she faded from view.

* * *

As chaos erupted around him, Severus could not stop staring at the spot Hermione had once occupied. He had watched her run, so why hadn’t he stopped her?


	33. Chapter 33

She checked her hair in the mirror for the second time. She had spent most of the morning getting her curls just so and she was pleased with the result. She had been staying home mostly to avoid the paparazzi, which did not provide many opportunities to dress up. But it was nice that today’s lunch plans gave her an excuse to look nice.

She slipped on her jacket after checking the weather forecast. It was going to be a warm spring day, but threatening rain made her want to take it. She would hate for her hairstyle to get ruined by the rain when she had worked so hard on it.

She apparated to an alley near their old haunt, which was just as busy as ever, but he assured her that he made reservations. There was a noticeable bounce in her step as she headed for the restaurant, but still she hesitated when she reached the door. 

She was not sure but she thought it was nervousness that she felt. But then, she did not know why she was so nervous to talk to him again. They were finally on the same page, so she should be happy, right?

She told herself that she was just being silly and pushed open the door to see him already seated and staring at the menu intently. She took a deep breath before she walked over to him.

“Hello,” she said, pulling out a chair.

“Hello,” he said, putting down the menu. “How’s unemployment treating you?”

“Really?” she asked. “This is how you greet me?”

Of course Phaedra had been fired after she failed miserably at her one task of getting Severus and Hermione married. Honestly, it was amazing she was not arrested, the way her higher-ups had berated Phaedra. But she supposed that was the perk of being engaged to an auror and your future brother-in-law being the head of magical law enforcement. The law could not touch her.

“It’s terribly boring,” Phaedra continued, “if I’m being honest. The sooner I find a new career, the better.”

“You look nice, at least,” Todd said.

“I did make an effort today; thanks for noticing. You know, it is so trying being in the shadow of my much better-looking, older brother,” Phaedra deadpanned.

“You’re right,” he said, just as flatly.

“So, how have you been?”

“Oh, you know me, just working,” he said. Phaedra rolled her eyes. Her brother was a lot of things, but a hard worker was not one of them, despite having been sorted into Hufflepuff. Honestly, Phaedra had no idea why he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin.

“And how’s that going?”

“It’s fine,” he said, before adding, “a little depressing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Snape just mopes around all day. I mean, you should have seen him at Ginny and Harry’s wedding. It was like, I know you don’t like physical affection, man, but please let me give you a hug.”

Phaedra nodded. “I’m surprised he even went, to be honest. I know he was invited, but, based on the pictures I’ve seen, he looked miserable the entire time. But I think he felt obligated because Harry had been his best man. ”

“Do you think he thought that Hermione was going to show up?”

Phaedra shook her head. “No. No one’s heard from her in months.” A partial truth. Phaedra was still in contact with her. “I don’t even think she’s in the country.” That was the truth.

Phaedra and Hermione had been exchanging letters ever since Hermione wrote to ask Phaedra to help her with something. A few days later, the _Quibbler_ published a damning exposé with first-hand accounts of all the shading dealings that had happened behind closed doors.

Initially, other publications refused to cover the story, but once public chatter increased, the more “mainstream” papers published their own articles. Hermione, of course, gave her own account, but she asked them to keep Snape out of it entirely. Phaedra would never admit to it, but most of the information had come from her.

“If you and Ron get married, maybe she’ll have a reason to come back,” Todd said, returning her focus to the conversation at hand.

“I don’t know if she’s ready to come back,” Phaedra said, thinking of their correspondences. “Plus, I told you; we called off the engagement.” Okay, so, maybe that was also a partial truth. It had mostly been her decision. 

“And how did Molly Weasley take that?” Todd asked, with a sly grin. He must have realized how much that would irk the woman.

Phaedra made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a horse. “Don’t even get me started.”

“She was mad?”

“Oh, mad doesn’t even begin to cover it. I was uninvited from Ginny and Harry’s wedding, remember? Her son has two cancelled engagements! That’s not a very good record. I think she thinks it will make it harder for him to find a wife.”

“You only got engaged to him in the first place though because of the law! Now that the law is gone, why would you keep your engagement intact?”

“Well… So, I may have broken up with him too.”

“No, you did _not_.”

Phaedra smiled forcefully. “I did. It was hard, but we weren’t right together.”

“Good. I didn’t like him anyway.”

“Yes, as you made abundantly clear.” That had been a source of tension between the two of them. That and Phaedra’s involvement in a law that Todd had dubbed “completely and totally fascistic.” “And he was not bad. It was fun while it lasted. But like I said, I don’t think it was built to last.”

“Hmm, yes. Maybe forcing people into relationships quickly under duress is maybe not the best idea for a law.”

Phaedra glared at her brother. “I know.”

“And yet you didn’t do anything about it.”

“That’s not true.” At least, not in the end. Not when it mattered. “I got Hermione to leave. I’m the one who made it snow. I also planted the idea in her head to run away. I may have also told her to ‘go.’”

“Oh, wow, here I was thinking that was all Percy’s doing. At least, based on all of those articles I read from anonymous sources within the ministry,” Todd said, waggling his eyebrow suggestively. 

The _Quibbler_ piece had forced Percy to resign due to public outcry over shading dealings behind closed doors. And luckily for Phaedra and Hermione, the first of whom was already fired and the second of whom was far away, Percy could not even retaliate against them.

“No, I’m pretty sure Percy wanted her to stick around for as long as possible. _I_ ,” she brought her hand to her chest for dramatic effect, “however, was instrumental in helping her get out of a bad situation.”

“Sure, Phee, whatever you say,” he said before segueing into, “by the way, did you hear the news about Percy?”

“No. What?” Beyond him getting fired—well, to be totally correct, _resigning_ —Phaedra had not heard a peep from Percy. It was irksome that she had been fired while he only resigned, but she suspected that he would have an even harder time finding a new job than she would.

“Penelope filed for divorce.”

“No!”

“She did!” Todd laughed. “Come to think of it, I believe that means the Marriage Law had an overall negative result; the magical community ended up with fewer marriages than we started with.”

“Oh my God, that’s actually kind of hilarious, if not a little sad.” Phaedra said, an idea starting to form in her mind. “Of course,” she began, “it doesn’t have to be doom and gloom for everyone. Maybe someone—or rather, two someones—will get their happy ending.”

“Why?” Todd asked. “Do you have something planned?”

Phaedra just smiled wickedly.


	34. Chapter 34

_It was dark. Severus was driving a car—the first indication he was dreaming; Severus couldn’t drive. Passing street lamps illuminated his passenger—the second indication. She was crying, the light reflecting in her tears. It felt like a punch in the gut, even in a dream. Then Dream Severus would reach out to pull her close around and tell her that everything was alright, but each time he tried, she seemed to move further away. That was usually the third indication that he was dreaming._

_But in this instance, she turned to him, and held his face in her hands. She pulled him closer to him, so close that their lips were almost touching. She had stopped crying but her cheeks were still stained with tears._

_“Come back,” she said, practically whispering the words into his mouth._

Severus woke up slowly. He was not sure why the dream paradigm had changed all of a sudden. Probably because he had begun telling himself just how ridiculous this whole thing was. She was gone; she was not coming back. She had not told him where she was and most importantly, she had not tried to contact Severus at all. That did not sound like someone who wanted to be with him.

“I can’t,” he said to the empty air..

Severus sat up on his bed, staring at his feet on the floor. How many times had he offered to run away with him? And how many times had she brushed him off? And then when the opportunity presented itself, she went off without him. If that was not a rejection, Severus did not know what was.

He had not been sleeping well lately. He got up much earlier than he used even without the aid of an alarm thanks to being beset by dreams. He did not linger in bed, however, and fully stood up to get ready for his day. He did not know how Hermione—Merlin, he was still thinking about her—had done it. Severus was bone tired by the time he came home each night but he still had trouble falling asleep at night. Though, that might be because he had taken to napping on the couch after work.

Severus had become so desperate that he had begun reading up on Muggle sleeping advice and had followed their advice to cut his caffeine intake—he already was consuming no alcohol—but he still could not sleep. Severus was reluctant to start imbibing Draught of Dreamless Sleep again since he had abused the substance enough in the time after Voldemort had returned.

Thus, he came to the decision to actively begin moving on from his failed relationship with Hermione. He could not survive on so little sleep much longer.

Severus hopped into the shower and began washing himself at what could only be described as a leisurely pace. Though, there was nothing leisurely about it. It was not out of a sense of comfort and he did not especially like being alone with his thoughts in the shower, but it was not as if he had anything else to do in the very wee hours of the morning.

He opened his medicine cabinet to get his razor—he could not stand scruff anymore—and finished shaving. He had thrown out that aftershave long ago. He could not bear the sight—or smell—of that either.

He killed more time by getting dressed. He had hated that everything he wore reminded him of her, even if he technically had worn it all before her. So, he had used his plentiful savings from the ministry payouts—that he had foolishly hoped might go towards buying a house for him and Hermione—to buy shirts and trousers in colors outside of his monochromatic comfort zone. Todd had raised an eyebrow at this wardrobe change but had wisely remained silent on the matter.

When he walked to work in the morning, he was now forcing himself to not go by her old apartment. Not because he was afraid of seeing her there—her name had long ago been removed from the list of occupants—but because he hated being reminded of her.

To his customers’ confusion, he also stopped stocking rash cream and even though she had never purchased some, he stopped selling his version of Sleekeazy—which worked better than his competitor’s, but that was beside the point—because it made him of think of her on their wedding day and her straightened hair.

As much as he tried to banish the image from his mind, he could still picture her in her wedding gown, as if the image had been sketched into his brain. She had been so achingly beautiful but also looked so sad and scared. He should have realized sooner that she would run.

Todd had taken to offering to bring Severus his lunch since Severus had stopped going out and started bringing his own. He had told Todd that he was trying to avoid being recognized in public but he was sure his employee was astute enough to recognize that the media frenzy surrounding him and Hermione had long since died down and Severus was still not going out. Even just getting lunch reminded him of her. Merlin, he was pathetic.

Well, if today was the beginning of his Hermione-free life then perhaps he should actually try to go out and get food for himself. And if he was not doing for himself, then at least he could show to Todd that he was capable of moving on.

He walked into the main room of the shop—their clientele had been waning along with Severus’s popularity in public consciousness—so Severus was unsurprised to find Todd reading a paperback. He probably had not expected to see his employer at all that day, a rather common occurrence as of late.

“I’m getting lunch,” Severus said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Do you want anything?” Todd put the book down open onto the table. Severus nearly flinched; he would never treat a book in such a way.

“Where are you going?” Todd asked. He had a weird expression on his face. If Severus was not mistaken, Todd seemed almost excited at the prospect of him getting out. Severus had had a hunch that Todd was worried about him, _but not to this extent_.

Severus had not yet made up his mind. “...The usual,” he said. There, that would show Todd how much he had moved on.

Todd looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, “No, I don’t think I will have anything. Thanks.”

Severus did not look forward to the vernal equinox every year not only because it signaled the end of his beloved winter, but also because it meant the return of his allergies. This year was no different. He was taking muggle antihistamines as well as a tonic of his own invention. Anything to not spend his whole day sneezing or have his eyes running.

But today seemed to be exceptionally lovely and allergen-free, as if to spite Severus’s long-running, foul mood. The sun was out and telling Severus that his life, like the weather, was changing and that he should just get used to it.

He might be more forgiving to himself of not getting over Hermione yet except: one, they had been apart longer now than they had been together, two, they had not even professed their feelings for each other, and three, the relationship had been all for show, for Merlin’s sake!

Well, in any case, Severus had not expected them to say those words so soon. Despite their fake relationship lasting around two months, for how much of that had they actually liked each other? And at what point did real couples say it to each other? After many months? After a year? This was all a little out of Severus’s wheelhouse.

Severus looked both ways before opening the door to the restaurant, careful to not run into any distracted women. Severus sighed. He really had to stop doing stuff like this if he was going to move on!

 _Well_ , another part of him said, _if you did not want to think about her, you should not have come here!_

The restaurant was not as crowded as it had been when the photos of him and Hermione had first surfaced. This must have been very confusing to the staff and owners—one moment the restaurant became very popular, with no explanation, and then the next moment, returned to normal levels of popularity.

Severus went to the counter to order before sitting down in an empty corner, his old usual spot behind the column. Maybe this was proof that his life could go back to the way it was before.

“Oh my God, did you see who that was?” a female voice said from the other side of the column.

“No, who?” a second voice asked.

“ _Snape_.”

“No! I thought he disappeared with Hermione Granger.”

“Apparently he’s still around London, without her! And this was their spot, remember? Further proof that it was all a ruse.”

“No, I remember. Ugh, I guess you’re right. It really looked like they were in love, didn’t it?” This woman sounded sad almost. How odd.

“That’s what they wanted you to think, Amelia. Didn’t you read those articles I gave you?” Severus could hear the exasperation in this other woman’s voice.

“I know, but how can you fake love like that?”

“Oh, trust me, it’s _very_ easy.”

Severus was pleased that a waiter came by then with his meal so he could be spared the rest of this conversation. He had been planning to eat it there but he took it and left. He felt bad for the second voice—Amelia, apparently. Like her, he also had been led to believe that something more had been going on. They had all been duped.

After work Severus was so thoroughly drained that he just wanted to collapse onto his bed, over the covers and with his clothes still on, but if he wanted to start sleeping through the night, he had to go to sleep at a normal hour.

His home had fallen to disarray this past couple of months—well, as much as it could with its Spartan decorating—and he ought to do some spring cleaning, as it were. The enchantment on his skating rink had long since worn off, but he still had to put the furniture back in his office.

He also had to rearrange the sofa and loveseat that they had moved out of the way so they could have dance lessons in his living room. All of those dance lessons had been for naught, however, as Hermione had left before their first dance.

The “Christmas tree” had transformed back into a sprig of rosemary. At least, he assumed it had; the unplugged spool of lights sat coiled on top of it, obscuring it from view. He had gone from being ambivalent to those lights, to loving them, and now he was not sure if he wanted to see them ever again. Severus had better hope that he figured out this whole issue before next December or he would never make it through the holidays.

Severus began his tasks with some measure of hesitation, not wanting to engage with the memories that would undoubtedly be brought out during this exercise. But, he supposed in the long run he would be better for it. And it was another step on his journey to returning to the life he had before everything had blown up in his face.

In the end, doing these things that he had been putting off for months had taken him no time at all and he finished well before he normally prepared dinner. He was cooking a roast and while he had been eschewing cruciferous vegetables for some time, he was also forcing himself to eat Brussels sprouts on the side.

One would not think that lost love would be the reason to not eat a vegetable, but that was where Severus was at the moment. And he had to start somewhere. Every step forward was a step in the right direction.

After dinner, Severus still had that intense desire to just lay down. He needed something to do. He could read; but if he started reading, he usually just fell asleep after the first couple of pages.

Severus looked around his kitchen, which he had already tidied up while he was waiting for his roast to cook. His eyes settled on his kettle.

 _I could literally watch water boil_ , he thought.

Then he thought about it again. It was not the worst idea in the world. He could even fill the kettle up all the way and turn the heat to low. Then hopefully while he watched it boil he would think about something other than being left at the altar by someone he had thought was his friend.

So he did just that and shuffled into his hallway closet to pick out the herbs he would use to make a tisane. He scanned the shelves row by row until he reached the bottom, where he was surprised to see a pink… thing crumpled on the floor.

Severus squatted, his joints cracking, and picked up the bit of material between his thumb and forefinger. Feeling the texture of the wool against his skin, Severus realized with a jolt that this was Hermione’s scarf, the one she had lost. Or rather, _he_ had lost it for her when he had hung it up in his impromptu coat closet.

He stared at the scarf in his hands. His first instinct was to throw it out. She had, after all, thrown out their relationship like it had not meant anything at all. But then Severus realized he was being uncharitable. While she had not acted perfectly, Severus could admit there were extenuating circumstances.

His next instinct was to send it back to her—that is what real couples did—but he did not know where she was at the moment. Then he supposed he could send it to her mother—she had complained loudly about Hermione losing the scarf—but then again Severus and Mrs. Granger had not exactly ended on the best foot. 

It was not like she had been rude to Severus, but she had been annoyed with her daughter for walking out, when, in actuality, it was entirely Percy Weasley’s fault. That might sound hypocritical, given Severus’s current heartbreak, but his end goal had never been to marry Hermione, only be with her, in any capacity. Hell, he would settle for friends. Being friends would be wonderful, actually. What he would not give to just hear from her?

The piercing whistle of his kettle snapped Severus out of his thought spiral and he stood back up, still unsure of what to do with the scarf, which he threw over his shoulder like a kitchen towel to leave his hands free. He grabbed a tin of rose hips, one of hibiscus petals, and another of peppermint.

Severus blew on his tea as he stared across his kitchen table at the scarf that he had draped over the chair. He had not intended this at first—he had just kind of tossed it there—but he realized then that he put it where Hermione had used to sit. He remembered their few, but cherished dinner dates when he had taken shy glances at her and how on their first date, he had given her wine and she had fallen asleep on his couch.

Severus groaned. He was trying to move on. This was not helping.

Or maybe it was? What did he know? Maybe this was his brain’s way of purging all of these happy memories from his consciousness.

Severus finished his tea and stood up from his table. He pushed in his chair and took his mug with him back into the kitchen. He turned off the light in the dining room, leaving the scarf on the chair in the dark. He did not need to take it with him. That was weird. He was fine leaving it there until he had a better idea of what to do with it.

“What are you looking at?” he asked in its general direction. The scarf, predictably, said nothing in return. Severus turned around, fully prepared to finally turn in for the night, which he entirely deserved, when the scarf seemed to pull him back around.

He stomped over to the chair and picked up the scarf, stomping all the way up the stairs into his bedroom.

“Are you happy?” he asked the scarf, balled up in his fist. “Is this what you wanted?”

Severus stopped and took a deep breath. It was not helpful in the least to shout at inanimate objects, especially when he was trying to return to some sense of normalcy in his life.

He threw the scarf on his bed and did his nightly routine in the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was finally the length he liked it at. He had no idea if Hermione had preferred it longer or shorter, but maybe that was for the best.

Severus undid his pants and let them pool at his ankles before he kicked them off in the direction of the laundry basket. His shirt made a similar trajectory but he was unsure if either reached their destination since he had flopped face down onto his bed.

Severus tried to fall asleep but all he could do was imagine the scarf staring at him. He groaned and got up from his bed. Stabbing pain shot up his leg when he miscalculated the length of his bed and stubbed his toe on the footboard. He swore profusely and hobbled to his dresser.

He opened one of the top drawers and shoved the scarf inside.

“That’s enough of you,” he said, before returning to his bed. This time, however, he actually took the effort to get under the covers. Severus shut his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep.


	35. Chapter 35

Hermione stood by the tracks, waiting for the train to arrive, a basket resting on her hips. Her parents had done her a favor by letting her stay at their summer home in the South of France. The least she could do was spruce the place up a bit. Today’s task was to go into town to the garden center and pick out some flowers for the back garden. The Grangers did pay someone to check on the house occasionally during the months they were not there, but the garden had long since grown into a jungle.

Hermione checked her watch. These more suburban routes tended to be less precise than their urban counterparts. She put her arm back down and looked around the station. It was later in the day so she was not with the commuters, but there were a lot of retirees joining her. She recognized some of them, especially because they had been keen to say hello to Hermione. Hermione, however, was not really the “befriend strangers type,” so she had kept her distance—literally and figuratively.

True, she did not need to ride the train, but it gave her something to do to fill her days, which she found achingly empty since her unemployment started.

Movement on the other side of the track caught Hermione’s eye. She looked up to see a man dressed all in black. He had long hair and for the briefest of moments she thought… But, no, it couldn’t be him. For one, this man only resembled Severus in stature, but otherwise his face was completely different. And another, this man was lighting a cigarette. Hermione was not _entirely_ certain but she was _fairly_ certain that Severus did not smoke. Then again, how well had they gotten to know each other anyway?

The train arrived then, obscuring the smoking man from Hermione’s view. She shook her head slightly, as if doing so would expel him—and Severus—from her thoughts. But as she took her seat on the train, resting her basket on her lap, Hermione could not help but think about Severus.

She stared out the window, her eyes tracing the landscape of the surrounding countryside. Hermione would not allow herself these moments often, but sometimes she let her mind wander and imagine what it would be like if she just had one more opportunity to speak to him again. What would she say?

In her more hopeful daydreams, the conversation was warm and conciliatory, and even if they went their separate ways, there was a mutual understanding.

But normally, the reverie turned sour and she would picture him walking away, telling her empty her words were too little, too late. She did not know why even in her wildest imaginings, her mind went straight there.

Maybe because she felt like, ultimately, she had betrayed him so thoroughly that there was no way anything she did could make it to him.

Soon, she thought, there would be a day where she did not imagine Severus at train stations or in shops or in everyone who passed by her. But that day was taking its sweet time arriving. She sighed and leaned further into the headrest, her gaze travelling to the ceiling of the train.

This was all part of her atonement though, right? It was not supposed to be pleasant or easy. So, why should she expect that it would just be over?

The train stopped and Hermione was pleased to get off, where a change of scenery would hopefully provide a change of thoughts. And she did still have to focus on getting from the station to the garden center.

It turned out the route to the garden center from the station was just a straight shot but when she had asked her neighbors for help, she was not entirely sure she had remembered their directions correctly. Or understood correctly. Directions were hard enough in her native language.

Hermione walked to the outside area of the garden center, where she assumed most of the plants would be. She walked along the aisles not totally knowing what she was looking for. Sure, she had paid attention in Herbology, but that did not help her with landscaping.

Severus would know what to do, she thought with a pang. The guilt was creeping back in. Of course. How had she not expected to think of him at the garden center, when she was the one who had bought him a gardening book for Christmas!? Merlin, there was something wrong with her.

“Can I help you?” a shop assistant asked her. Hermione was surprised. Her experience in shops was that people tended to leave her alone, but she must have looked very confused.

Hermione panicked. She probably did need help, but did she have the necessary vocabulary to ask for it?

“Uh, the roses,” she said quickly. That was the only plant she knew—because it was the same in English and French—so that’s the first thing that popped into her head. “Can you show me the roses, please?”

The employee smiled at Hermione weakly and walked with her for about two steps before pointing to neat rows of little bushes that were very obviously roses with their thorny stems and also the giant sign with a picture of a rose on it.

“Thank you so much!” Hermione said, but the assistant was already walking away.

She turned to look at the roses for a second time. She had not been planning to plant them in the yard—they were needy little bastards, weren’t they?—but they were certainly pretty. And she would at least be there until the end of spring—the hard deadline her parents had given her to find a new job—and her parents could take over after that.

Hermione looked at the colors on offer. She really liked the peach and the yellow, but she could be tempted to get the classic red and pink shades. There were also white varieties, but she was staying far away from them.

She loaded up her basket with as many of the little plants as she could fit. Then she did a test lift to make sure she could carry the basket.

Normally she would just use a spell to lighten the load for herself, but she was still not sure if the Ministry was tracking her movements through her spell castings. Phaedra had assured her in their letters that she was no longer being monitored, but Hermione was skeptical. The “no longer” was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence. How could Phaedra be certain? She had been fired after all.

Plus, not using her magic gave her an excuse to do fun stuff like ride the train and lift heavy things on her own. Her arms were definitely going to thank her for this later. She might miss doing magic more if she still had to blow dry her hair, but since she was rocking a much shorter cut, she could let it air dry.

Hermione paid for the plants and left the shop, pleased that she would have something to do to fill the rest of her day. And on the train ride home she only thought about where exactly she would like to put the roses. Should she arrange by color or mix them? And if she did mix them, should it be in a pattern or semi-randomly? The possibilities were endless. Damn, she really wished she had a piece of paper so she could plot this out better.

She kept thinking about this decision all of the way home on the walk from her local station as well. She left her basket outside to go inside and get the neglected garden supplies and a big sun hat.

But then she noticed the mailman had arrived. He waved at Hermione. “Parcel for you, miss,” he said, handing her a little box.

Hermione wiped her hands on her jeans, before taking the proffered box. “Thank you,” she said, waving him half-heartedly goodbye.

The address was Phaedra’s, of course. She was still in contact with her parents and Ginny, but those missives were few and far between. Hermione was surprised how much she enjoyed being pen pals with Phaedra, but it also helped that she was no longer engaged to Ron. And based on her last letter, she and Ron were done for good.

She supposed that this letter would contain updates on Ginny and Harry’s wedding, which Hermione was somewhat disappointed that she was missing. After being uninvited, then reinvited, in the end, she had not attended. Funny how that worked out. Although, she could not say she was too disappointed; she did not know when she would be able to attend a wedding without being reminded of her disaster.

And yet, despite Phaedra’s detailed updates of everyone back home, there was still one person she never mentioned.

Hermione walked into the house and set the package down on the kitchen table. She could open it after dinner, which would be another thing for her to look forward to.

She returned to the task at hand. Hermione began pulling up the weeds in earnest, which was kind of fun at first, but after a while she sorely missed being able to use her magic. She was tempted to go inside and dig out of her wand—Phaedra _had_ said they were done tracking Hermione—but she recognized that she probably should not perform such blatant feats of magic when her neighbors would also be out enjoying the sunny weather.

Hermione had finished a swath by the back door and she was starting to get hungry, so she had to take a break. Eating a sandwich, she examined her hard work from indoors. Hermione was kicking herself for not starting this earlier. Would she be done before it got dark? Maybe she had also been a little overzealous in her rose buying. How far apart was she supposed to plant them? Was there enough room for all of them out there? She had not thought to ask or figure that out ahead of time.

Once again, Hermione wished she had Severus with her to help her out. Not only was he knowledgeable about all of this stuff and could be a second pair of hands, but he would also probably make the time fly just with his presence and witty banter. They probably could have shared a laugh about her interaction with the assistant at the nursery.

Hermione set her plate down on the table beside Phaedra’s package. She had told herself that she would open it after dinner, after she had completed all of her tasks, and she was only just enjoying lunch now. And yet, she had a burning curiosity to see what was contained within. Hermione had done a lot of manual labor already, what was the harm in opening it a little early?

She untied the white string—entirely for show, since tape was also involved—dug her thumb under the brown paper, carefully tearing it from the tiny box inside. Based on the box type and the jostling she heard within, Hermione figured it was jewelry. But why would Phaedra be sending her jewelry? Was it one half of a friendship necklace? she thought, only somewhat jokingly.

But when Hermione removed the lid of the box, she was unsurprised to see it was the locket Severus had supposedly given her. She was not sure why she was not surprised. Maybe it was because Phaedra never wrote to her about Severus or maybe it was because Phaedra never pressured her to come back home like her friends and family had. So, why had she started now? Because that’s clearly what this was.

Hermione was in no mood to open the locket, however, because—even after all of these months—she knew exactly what would be inside. She took the offending necklace and marched into her parents’ room. Hermione had been sleeping in what had been her room when she still had spent the summers with them in France, so she rarely spent time in her parents’ bedroom. Thus, this was where she kept things she did not want to see.

She had left her bouquet on their dresser and it still lay there brown and brittle. Honestly, Hermione did not know why she had brought the flowers with her if she was just going to leave the roses to die of thirst. Maybe she had planned to at least put the roses in a vase, but she soon realized just how painful it was to be around them.

And another day, when she had been going through her books, she had found her Christmas gift from Severus. That book had also made its way into her parents’ bedroom—well, more like, _under their bed_. She would never want to harm a book, so she slid it under the bed, which had felt pretty cathartic. Out of sight, out of mind. If and when her parents found it, that was a problem for another day.

Hermione did not like keeping books around if there was no chance she was going to reread them—she had far too many books for that to be practical—so she did know why she had not donated the book yet. Maybe because it was in English. At least that’s what she told herself.

But before she could throw the locket in a dramatic fashion—like she had wanted to do during her runaway bride stunt—she stared at it for a moment longer. It was still a little tacky in her opinion, but she rubbed her thumb over the engraving of the “S.”

She did not deserve to open it and see his face. The last time she had seen his face, so full of pain, was still burned into her mind.

He probably hated her now. And even if he did not hate her after she left him at the altar, he probably did after she ignored him for months. Or maybe he had never even cared for her at all. He had not run with her on their wedding day. Maybe that was why she was so scared to reach out to him.

She preferred this limbo of not-knowing to the finality of knowing what they had been to each other.

Hermione bent down to find Severus’s book. Her mind was made up. She would take it and the necklace to a charity shop. Still her hand could barely reach it, so far under the bed it lay. She slid a bit further, until her shoulder was against the bed frame. She grasped for the book but couldn’t get purchase. She slithered back out and walked to the other side. Maybe this side would be easier.

When she finally made contact with the book, it was with the corner of the cover, which she held it by. Hermione was about to shut it without a second glance, until she saw there were some pen marks on one of the blank cover pages. How odd. Hermione would never mar a book in such a fashion.

She flipped back to that page and saw that it was not actually random scribbling, but a written note. She would recognize that handwriting from anywhere. _Severus_.

“Happy Christmas, Love, Severus,” his spiky letters spelled.

How had she not noticed this earlier? If she had actually bothered to read it, she might have caught it. Hot tears welled at the corners of her eyes. He loved her? No, that could not be right. It was not real; they were friends. Well, friends who had kissed. But _love_?

Hermione continued to choke out deep, ugly sobs. She was crying very heavily now; it was a little hard to see. Perhaps if she had let herself feel anything earlier, she would not be reacting so strongly now, but if, anything, she had been lying to herself when she said she was processing and getting over it.

She grabbed the necklace from its box, fully intending to look open the locket and take a peek inside, but that was when she noticed the folded piece of paper at the bottom of the box.

“Dear Hermione,

Thanks for letting me borrow this; it helped me realize some things that I was not ready to admit to myself and for that I’ll be eternally grateful.

Anyway, I guess it’s technically government property, but if you want to pawn it for a little bit of extra money; I won’t judge you!

Also, my brother told me that Percy and Penelope got divorced—big surprise there!—and then when I asked Ginny about it, she said he got a job at MACUSA and already has a new girlfriend. I think her name is Aubrey or something. But can you believe it? Why do jerks like him get to bounce back so easily?

(I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that, so don’t mention anything about you knowing this to Ginny.)

Speaking of Ginny, I asked her to send me some photos, since I could not attend as I was so rudely disinvited—thanks Molly!—and I am sending those along to you, my fellow disinvitee (though I guess you were technically _re_ -invited).

Lots of love,

Phaedra”

There was a paperclip at the bottom of the letter and Hermione flipped it over to find the attached picture. Hermione could immediately tell why Ginny had liked it. The pair were linked, arm-in-arm. Harry’s eyes were half-closed and his mouth was open because he had probably been in the middle of talking. Meanwhile Ginny, looking gorgeous in her dress, was grinning at him like he was the funniest person in the whole world.

If Hermione had thought she was a fountain before, she had become a positive geyser of emotion now. They looked so happy and she hadn’t been there for her friends. And why hadn’t she? Phaedra had told her explicitly that she was safe to come back—Percy had tried to get her extradited, but then he was promptly fired—and yet she still stayed!

If she was being honest with herself, she knew exactly why she could not— _did not want_ —to go back to England. She did not want to have to face what she had done and who, most of all, she had hurt.

Which is when she noticed in the background of the picture, a figure dressed in dark clothes and looking miserable. He was not scowling, per se, which is what someone might expect from Severus Snape, but his expression was pained nevertheless.

Hermione’s heart broke at the sight of it. And maybe it was self-centered for Hermione to assume that she would be the reason for that look on his face—he was at Harry Potter’s wedding, after all—but how could she not? How could she not feel like she was causing all of the misery in his life?

Is this why Phaedra had sent her the picture? That was certainly an odd choice. Was it her goal to make Hermione cry buckets? No, surely she had not noticed Severus standing in the back and off to the side. Hermione was wrong about this whole thing; it had been unintentional.

How was she supposed to finish the rest of her gardening knowing this now? Severus had loved her and she had broken his heart and now he was miserable—well, probably; that was still a big assumption on her part. But what could she do?

Well, she knew what she should do. But what could she do about it _right now_? Hermione had to finish what she was doing. Then again, she also knew that this would bother her so much that she would probably not get much done the rest of the day.

Hermione stuffed the necklace into her pocket before walking outside and placing a stasis charm on the roses.

Alright, Hermione thought. She was doing this. Hermione was going to do what she should have done a long time ago.

She was going to apologize.


	36. Chapter 36

One week after Severus had implemented Operation Move On From Hermione—Severus was still workshopping the title—and he was already sleeping better. It also helped that after work he could begin working in his back garden now that the threat of frost had passed. Maybe Severus should amend his previous statement; maybe spring was not so bad after all.

He was making dinner—cauliflower was tonight’s cruciferous vegetable—and enjoying the birds who were reappearing after a winter in warmer climes. Finally, his life was returning to its old, comfortable tempo.

Then a knock came at his door.

Severus put down his utensils. Had the journalists finally found him? He had been surprised how much they had left him alone thus far, but maybe now was the end of a peaceful, journalist-free era. Or, even more disconcerting, was it the Ministry? Would he have to return the money they had given him? The checks had stopped appearing after the wedding; but if they were mad about him not upholding his side of the bargain, they had never said anything.

He untied his latest novelty apron, a belated birthday gift from Todd—he did not need to be caught like that on camera—and walked to the door. Severus could pretend that he was not at home, but that would not make the problem go away, so he sighed and opened the door.

* * *

Hermione debated running to the airport to catch the next flight to the United Kingdom, but eventually she thought better of it. She never had an easy time going through airport security with her wand and it was generally frowned upon to confund security personnel. Thus, her decision to apparate internationally.

She had apparated from London to Hogwarts, which was not a short distance by any means, but she did not know the distance between Toulouse and London or if she could even make it that far. Therefore Hermione had decided to make the trip in multiple jumps.

Which is how she ended up on Severus’s porch, shivering in the cool spring night. The lights shining through the windows told Hermione that he was home. All she had to do was knock on his door.

But what if he wasn’t home alone? What if she was interrupting something between him and _a guest_? Hermione was tempted to leave and apparate all the way back to France, but then she realized that would only prolong her suffering.

She hesitated for a moment before knocking. Hermione put her hand down when after she realized how demanding and impertinent her knocks sounded. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard his footsteps approach.

This was a bad idea. What if he didn’t want to see her? Was it too late to turn tail?

But then the door opened and Hermione was awash in light. She seemed fixed by it, as she stared at him in stunned silence. And if his slack jaw was any indication, Severus was equally shocked.

Hermione pushed down her pride—if she had any anymore—and blurted out, “I’m sorry!” That admission was apparently too great for her because Hermione burst into tears. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said between sobs. Hermione knew she probably looked like a weirdo, standing in front of Severus, her body either wracked by sobs or shivers, but she could not stop now.

Still, she did want to look at him, did not know if she could take his disgust or horror or disappointment, all of which would be proof of his rejection of her—rejection, that she might deserve, but would nevertheless sting.

“Hermione,” he said his voice soft, “why don’t you come inside?”

Hermione shook her head. She should not; she did not trust herself to go in there with him. She knew it would be too tempting for her not to touch him. She was so used to their casual touching that she did not know how she would be able to resist.

And then Severus did the unthinkable: he reached out to touch _her_. Sure, it was only his hand gently resting on her shoulder but it, nevertheless, sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. And she was fairly certain that it was not from the cold.

“Please?” he asked, his voice still unbelievably gentle. “For me?”

* * *

All of Severus’s plans to move on from Hermione were forgotten as soon as he saw her in front of him. Her face was bathed in light like she had been in his dreams, except she was actually there, corporeal and whole. It took all of his self-control not to pull her into an embrace right then and there.

And when he put his hand on her shoulder, she finally looked and his resolve crumpled a little bit more. But then she nodded and allowed herself to be led inside. Hermione looked around cautiously like a caged animal; Severus resolved to put her at ease. At least she had stopped crying.

“Have you eaten already?” he asked.

“Oh, I can’t believe it,” she said, smacking her head rather loudly with the palm of her hand. Severus winced at the sound. “How inconsiderate of me to interrupt your dinner!”

“Don’t worry. I have plenty!” he said, not wanting her to hurt herself further.

And he did definitely have enough to offer her. Severus had begun making extra to bring leftovers to work the next day for lunch, since his one time outing to get lunch had been a total failure. “Cauliflower and roast, if you’re interested. I know, typical meal for me. But I only recently started eating cruc—” Severus did not want to finish that sentence.

“That reminds me,” he said, changing course. “I have something of yours.” Severus was about to run upstairs when he remembered dinner. “Well, I’ll check that nothing is burning and then I’ll get it.”

* * *

Hermione chewed her lip. She had not really been listening when Severus had talked about getting something. To be honest, she was not particularly worried about this personal effect of hers; if she had not noticed it missing yet, how important was it to her really? No, mostly she was thinking about how to excuse herself from dinner.

“Voilà,” Severus said, holding something in front of Hermione’s face. Her eyes worked to focus on the offered object.

“Is that my scarf?” she asked. Hermione barely remembered losing it.

“Yes,” Severus said, “It felt down in the closet. I found it when I was cleaning.” Hermione filled in the blanks—when he was cleaning up her from his life.

“Well, thanks for returning my scarf to me, I had better get going,” she said, still awkwardly clutching the scarf.

She had no idea what to do with the damned thing—it definitely did not fit in her pockets—so she slung it over her shoulder. She was feeling self-conscious about how ridiculous she must look so she shoved her hands into her pockets.

Her right hand touched the cool metal of the locket, which caused her to pull her hand away, like she had been burned. How odd her behavior must look.

“Alright,” Severus said, brushing his hand through his hair. Hermione had not even noticed, but it was back to its old length. Meanwhile hers was dramatically shorter and he had yet to comment on it. “You’ve come all of this way, but…”

Hermione was about to say that she really only came this far to apologize and that she had nothing more to say, when she realized how incredibly self-centered that sounded. Maybe she had gotten the closure she needed, but maybe there were some things he wanted to say as well.

“No, you’re right,” Hermione said. She was probably giving Severus whiplash with these heel turns. “I can stay for a bit longer.”

* * *

“Where were—are—you staying at the moment… if you don’t mind me asking.”

Severus could not believe that Hermione was sitting across from him now when only last week he had been staring at her scarf in her stead. Of course, that same scarf was now draped around his shoulders—honestly he should ask to hang it up for her somewhere but there was still the possibility that he would lose it again.

It was almost like old times again. Sitting across from each other in awkward silence. So close, but feeling worlds apart. Forget the scarf; there was still the possibility that he would lose her and he should not get his hopes up. She was more than ready to bolt earlier.

When had she become so flighty? She was like a deer.

“I was in Southwest France, near the Spanish border. My parents have a summer home there.” She winced. “It’s kind of embarrassing that they own a house that they only use in the summer.”

The question Severus wanted to ask next just hung in the air, begging to be said. _Why did you run, Hermione?_ But he could not bring himself to do it. Whether he was more scared of her reaction to his asking or her response, he did not know.

“What did you do during that time?” he asked, hoping the conversation would lead there eventually.

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. Not much, really. My parents were insistent about me finding a job before they arrived for their holiday—as you know, I didn’t have a job anymore, after the stunt I pulled—but I was content to spend my time not consumed with my career.” Hermione snorted. “I had spent enough of my time on that already.”

Severus did the mental calculation. There were still many weeks until summer. That most likely meant that she would be returning to France after this conversation.

“I wrote to Phaedra a lot too. Something I’m also not proud of.” She was no longer looking at Severus but staring at her plate.

“Really? Why?” he asked, feigning ignorance. _Because you did not write to me?_ “If I understood the situation correctly, you and Miss Chapman were working together to tell your story to the press.”

“Well, yes,” Hermione said sheepishly. _Say it_ , he thought. _Say it_. “But I could have just as easily written to you.”

Severus felt his heart beat in his ear. She had said it. But there was still another question he was dying to ask. _So, why didn’t you?_

“I know I am only making excuses at this point, but if I had to hazard a guess, I would say I was afraid. I was afraid that you would not want to talk to me anymore—which, don’t get me wrong, you had every right to do—or you wouldn’t…”

_Wouldn’t what? Feel the same way about you anymore? Because that’s ridiculous._

Hermione picked up her glass and stared at it like it was the most fascinating glass of water. “I was scared then too,” she said. Severus did not need to ask when “then” was. “I was playing right into their hands. And I was doing this all for me instead of doing it for the people who rely on me. The government should serve the people. Not the other way around.

“It’s no excuse for how I treated you, but I just wanted you to know that it was not because I didn’t want to marry you.”

Severus felt his heart rate pick up again. He had told himself not to get his hopes up at the beginning of all of this and here he was, sending himself into cardiac arrest.

“Not that I _did_ want to marry you…” And there it was. His heart sank. But apparently Hermione had picked up on his crestfallenness because she added, “Well, not that I didn’t _not_ want to marry you. It’s just, if I were to, I would want to do it because I wanted to, not because Percy Weasley wanted me to. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. Severus had thought he had known where he wanted this conversation to go but maybe _he_ , in fact, was not ready for that conversation. “I heard he was fired. Thanks to you, of course.”

Hermione smiled wanly. “Thanks to me.” Severus could see that this whole thing still weighed on her conscience. “Phaedra told me he was divorced and working at MACUSA.”

 _God help the Americans_ , Severus thought.

“Oh, I suppose that explains why I didn’t see him at the wedding. It was a shame; I was hoping he and I could _settle our differences_.” That earned him a chuckle from Hermione. Severus was extremely pleased that he could still make Hermione laugh. “Come to think of it, Miss Chapman was not there despite the presence of her fiancé. And her brother, strangely enough.”

Hermione laughed again but this one was hollower. “That’s the other thing I learned. Phaedra and Ron are done for good.”

“Are they really?” Severus asked. _Does that mean you are going to get back together with Weasley?_ a dark part of him wondered.

“Yes. Phaedra informed me that this meant the Marriage Law resulted in a net negative in terms of number of marriages.”

Severus chuckled, trying not to think of Hermione with Weasley again. “I suppose that’s right.”

“Percy and Penelope. Ron and Phaedra. Me—” But Hermione did finish listing off the names of the people whose relationships were irrevocably altered.

They sat in silence, the words unsaid hanging between them.

They had finished their dinners. Hermione stood up to bring her dishes into the other room. She would be leaving soon. She would be gone again. He had to stop her. How to stop her?

“Would you like to stay for tea as well?” he asked, carrying his own plate.

This was a weak attempt and Severus knew it.

“I might be convinced,” Hermione said. “I was getting pretty lonely.”

“So, was I,” he said, feeling emboldened.

“I mean, I was alone before too,” she said in a small voice.

“That’s exactly what I meant.” They looked at each other.

“We don’t have to be alone anymore,” Hermione said tentatively.

“No,” Severus replied. “We don’t.”

“Well, it’s nice to have a friend again.”

“You know, Hermione,” Severus began before he lost his cool. “I forgive you. And to be honest, I’m glad. I never wanted there to be any doubt in our relationship about why we were together—not for money or for power.”

They met each other’s eyes for a split second; understanding sparked through both of them. “It’s nice to have _more than a friend_?” Hermione said, a teasing lilt in her voice. Still, it was enough.

Severus nearly dropped his dish into the sink and pulled her into an embrace. His lips found hers. She was warm and wet and sweet. Hermione relaxed into his arms and deepened the kiss. Severus never thought he would ever see her again, let alone touch her or kiss her. But now they were acting as if they could not get close enough. Maybe _now_ he could afford to get her hopes up.

She pulled away. “Can I take this to mean I can stay after tea as well?” she asked suggestively.

Severus was glad in that moment that she was no longer so close to him. He wanted to say that she could stay forever, but he realized they should probably take that part slow. The kissing, however, could continue and posthaste.

“Shit,” Hermione said, breaking their contact once more. “Can you help me plant my roses?”

Severus scrunched up his face. “Is that a euphemism for something?”

Hermione laughed. “No. Real flowers that I need help planting.”

“Right now?” he asked.

“Well, no, it can wait till tomorrow,” she teased.

“That’s good,” he said, pulling her close. “Because I had other plans in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it this far! 🥰 This is last chapter before the epilogue 😭


	37. Epilogue

The morning sun peaking through the curtains landed directly on Hermione’s closed eye. She groaned.

“You have to get up,” a voice gravelly with sleep said beside her. 

“No, I don’t. It’s _Sunday_ ,” Hermione said, stretching out the word to prove her point. She rolled over to escape further disturbances to her sleep.

Strong arms pulled her from the edge of the bed and against a warm chest. “It’s also the first day of September,” he said, more into her hair than into her ear. 

Hermione groaned again, only this time longer and louder. “You’re the one who wanted to be a teacher,” he said. Hermione did know that fact. But knowing that fact did not make getting up any easier.

“Only because you made it look so fun!” she said, fighting sleep.

Hermione opened her eyes, trying to wake up her brain. She looked around the room until her eyes settled on the books adorning her bedside table. Potions journals stacked on novels stacked on some Muggle non-fiction. Hermione smiled at the sight of _The Elegant Universe_. She had read it once or twice or maybe three times. Under it was, of course, her gift, _Botany for Gardeners_. They swapped books regularly.

“Don’t lie,” Severus said. “I did no such thing. Now get up. You don’t want to make a bad impression, do you?”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Hermione said, throwing off the covers and trying to sit up, but someone was pulling her closer and holding her tighter. “You know, you’re not making this any easier.”

“Maybe you should think about not being so cute in the morning.”

“I am not doing anything differently.”

“Well, it’s true.”

Hermione turned around in the bed to kiss Severus on the nose. “That means I’ll be cute when I get back. So, let me up!”

They kissed softly on the lips. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

Hermione sat up before turning to look at Severus still lying in their bed. She had to admit he was also pretty cute in the morning. It took all of her willpower to get the rest of the way out of bed and hop into the shower. When she was finished and had finger-combed out her shoulder-length curls, she walked into their bedroom to see that Severus was gone. But based on the noises from the kitchen, Hermione could tell he was making her breakfast.

“You know they have food at the school,” she said when she went downstairs to investigate further.

“Yes, but do they have your favorite hot sauce to eat with your eggs?”

Hermione grabbed a slice of toast from a plate and stuck it in her mouth before ringing her arms around him.

“You know I can’t flip your omelette if you’re holding me like that,” Severus said.

“How the tables have turned,” she said before releasing him. “And, ooh, an omelette? I definitely can’t get that kind of service at Hogwarts. Not that, I would, of course. It would probably be a lot of extra work for the elves.”

Severus shook his head. “Listen, Hermione, I know you mean well, but I don’t know if Minerva will take kindly to you unionizing the elves.”

“If she fired me for unionizing, I think we would have a strong wrongful termination suit on our hands.”

“Hermione…”

“Of course, it will be made even stronger after I form a teacher’s union.”

“Hermione…”

“Honestly, I think I’ve found my calling. Are you paying Todd fairly? Not profiting too much off his surplus-value are you?”

“Hermione, you do our taxes. You know how much I make.”

“Fine, fine, fine. I’ll keep my organizing down to a minimum. For _now_.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

Severus finished her omelette and the one he had made for himself before Hermione had come downstairs—she hoped it wasn’t too cold—and they took their plates into the dining room.

In the past they sat opposite each other, but now they sat on the same side, which gave them both a view of the rising sun which was lighting up the room in golden streaks of light.

“Are you nervous for your first day?”

Hermione took a sip of her tea. She cringed from the bitterness. “You made it strong this morning,” she said, pointedly ignoring the question.

“Someone was up late last night. I have to make sure you can make it through your first day.”

“Yes, well, _someone_ else was also awake late last night, so who’s to blame?”

“Yes, well, we’ll have to be stricter on days when you have early classes.”

“I don’t know if we can. I will have to talk again to Minerva about living at Hogwarts.”

Severus grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I know your threats are entirely empty.”

He was right, of course. Hermione did not like being away from him too long if she could help it. 

“Alright, maybe,” she conceded.

“You never answered my first question—not that I don’t already know the answer, of course. That’s why I wanted us to have breakfast together, to put you at ease.”

Hermione cast a sideways glance through narrowed eyes at Severus. She meant it as a threatening gesture, but he just smirked at her. “You don’t need to tell me,” he explained. “I can tell you get antsy when you’re worried… Well, more antsy than usual.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, feigning indignance.

He kissed her on the forehead. “It means you’re passionate.”

“Oh, okay. And it doesn’t mean you’re trying to cover up the fact that you’re picking on me?”

“Alright. Do you want to have a go at me? To make it fair?”

Hermione scrunched up her face, trying to think of a light-hearted dig that would not be too mean. “Your face is very bald today,” she said at last.

“Is that the best you can come up with?” he teased.

“You put me on the spot!”

Severus rubbed his face. “You know I have a meeting with a distributor today. Otherwise…”

“Are you nervous?” she teased right back at him. “Should I have made _you_ omelettes?”

Severus made a face. “What?” she asked, but he just mimed like he was zipping his mouth shut. “No, say it to my face. You’ve already insulted me once already today. What’s another opportunity?”

“It’s just—how to put this?—your strengths do not lie in the kitchen.”

“Okay, so maybe the omelette would have become scrambled eggs? Is that a crime?” Severus winced. “Now what? Are you saying I would mess that up too?” Severus nodded but Hermione could see the reluctance in his face. “Why are you even with me then?” she asked, but in a joking tone.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re the cleverest, wittiest person I know.”

“You mean the cleverest, wittiest person who is a disaster in the kitchen?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Hermione looked at her watch. “I would love to continue this conversation about all of my flaws but I need to get going.” She downed her tea in one gulp. Luckily it had cooled or else she might have burned her esophagus.

Severus stood up with her and pulled her into a kiss. He still held her in his arms when he said, “Good luck, Professor Granger. You’re going to blow all of the other teachers out of the water.”

Hermione was not trying to ruin her makeup but she could help it. Her eyes pricked with tears. “I am going to miss you.” She knew it was a little ridiculous but she was used to apprenticing under him. Now she would be brewing on her own.

“I know, but you’ll see me later today. I look forward to hearing how your first day went.”

“I love you,” Hermione said, still fighting back her tears, but not because she was sad. She was bursting with joy, actually. She was happy to do a job she was passionate about and excited to actually do some good in the world and grateful to have a partner who loved and supported her, in all of her endeavors.

“I love you too, Hermione.”


End file.
